INDY 


G  W  E  N  D  A 


1  know  him  very  well.     Here  he  is  " 

(See  page  150) 


G  W  E  N  D  A 


BY 


MABEL    BARNES-GRUNDY 

AUTHOR   OP 

'HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND,"  "DIMBIE  AND  i," 
"HILARY  ON  HER  OWN,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

THE    BAKER   &   TAYLOR    COMPANY 
1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOK  COMPANY 


Published,  March,  1910 


THE   TROW    PRESS,    NEW    YORK 


STACK 
ANNE) 


TO   HER 

WHO   BY   HER  WORDS   AND   DEEDS   REPUTES 

ALL  THAT   HAS   BEEN   SAID  OF 

MOTHERS-IN-LAW 


G  W  E  N  D  A 


LETTER   I 

HOTEL  DBS  STRANGERS, 
ST.  LUNAIRE,  BRITTANY,  May  29th. 

MY  DEAR  GRANTY  : 

When  you  command,  I  always  obey.  Per 
haps  you  haven't  noticed  this,  but  it  is  true 
nevertheless.  And  I  don't  think  I  am  actually 
colourless,  but  easily  led  by  people  I  love. 

You  asked  me  to  write  a  bit  of  something  to 
you  every  day,  now  that  we  are  parted.  A  bit 
about  myself  and  my  experiences  in  this  new, 
strange,  happy  life. 

"  You  probably  won't  post  all  that  you  write," 
you  observed  in  your  wise  way,  "  because  yours 
is  a  temperament  that  allows  itself  and  its 
speech  and  its  pen  to  run  away  with  it. 
But  the  mere  fact  of  seeing  your  emotions 
inscribed  in  black  and  white  will  not  only 
be  a  relief  to  your  pent  up  feelings  but  a 
safety  valve.  I  see  breakers  ahead.  Mar 
ried  life  consists  mostly  of  breakers,  with 
here  and  there  a  patch  of  smooth  water  which, 
when  arrived  at  by  the  married  voyagers, 

9 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

is  rarely  enjoyed  owing  to  their  exhausted  and 
sea-sick  condition.  You  will  probably  fling 
yourself  at  the  first  breaker  in  your  usual  im 
petuous  manner,  and  that  you  won't  go  un 
der,  be  submerged  completely,  is  my  earnest 
prayer." 

And  two  scraps  of  advice  you  also  gave  me 
in  reference  to  my  prospective  outpourings: 
"  Write  simply  and  without  a  lot  of  word  ver 
biage  and  embellishment.  I  always  skip  long 
sunsets  and  drawn  out  moonrises.  Use  a  word 
of  one  syllable  instead  of  two  if  it  expresses 
your  meaning  equally  well.  And  don't  write 
reams  about  the  perfection  of  your  husband, 
because  the  probability  is  that  in  a  couple  of 
months'  time  you  will  find  him  very  much  the 
same  as  other  men,  if  no  worse.  With  feet  of 
most  ordinary  clay,  an  uncontrolled  temper,  and 
little  sense  of  humour.  If  you  pull  through  the 
first  year  of  your  married  life  fairly  comfort 
ably,  the  probability  is,  you'll  get  through  fifty 
quite  happily.  It  is  usually  during  the  first  few 
months  that  the  disillusionment  and  trouble  be 
gin.  So  if  you  accept  the  fact,  right  away,  that 
your  husband  is  no  better  if  no  worse  than 
other  men,  you  are  starting  with  a  better  equip 
ment  than  a  woman  who  has  taken  first  class 

10 


GWENDA 

honours  in  mathematics,  and  has  a  complete 
knowledge  of  every  language  both  Ancient  and 
Modern  at  her  finger  ends." 

How  have  you  learnt  this  wisdom,  I  wonder  ? 
And  why  do  you  so  much  dislike  men,  I  still 
more  wonder?  And  have  been  wondering  all 
my  life. 

You  never  meant  me  to  get  married  if  you 
could  possibly  prevent  it.  There  was  Tommy 
Eenshaw — a  dear  boy,  but  you  said  he  was  too 
fat,  would  snore  in  his  sleep,  and  have  an  apo 
plectic  fit  before  he  was  fifty.  Tommy  was  told 
to  go.  Then  there  was  Bertram  Izard.  You 
said  he  was  a  bad  shape,  his  feet  too  long,  and 
that  his  legs,  which  bent  like  reeds  in  a  wind, 
reminded  you  of  the  admonition  of  the  Psalm 
ist  :  "  Neither  put  ye  your  trust  in  any  man's 
legs."  Bertram  followed  Tommy.  And  then 
came  Lionel,  and  you  used  to  say  that  when  I 
pronounced  his  name  my  voice  reminded  you  of 
angels,  prophets,  martyrs,  virgins,  and  things 
of  that  description,  why,  I  cannot  imagine. 
But  Lionel  did  not  follow  the  others.  You 
might  make  remarks  about  not  trusting  a  hand 
some  man,  or  one  with  black  hair  and  mous 
tache — especially  hair  that  curled — but  they  fell 
on  deaf  ears.  I  heeded  you  no  longer.  Lionel 

11 


GWENDA 

was  different  from  the  others,  besides  he  swept 
me  off  my  feet,  taught  me  the  meaning  of  the 
word  "  love."  And  though  I  had  never  meant 
to  marry,  never  meant  to  leave  you,  as  you 
know,  Lionel  made  me  unsay  and  unthink  all 
that  I  had  ever  said  or  thought,  with  the  result 
that  here  I  am  with  him  in  Brittany  spending  a 
most  delightful  honeymoon.  But  I  am  not  go 
ing  to  rhapsodise,  you  have  barred  that,  so  have 
no  fear  my  dear  Great  Aunt.  Neither  am  I  go 
ing  to  enter  into  long  descriptions  of  scenery, 
so  as  you  are  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  will 
you  allow  me  to  touch  guardedly  upon  the 
subject  of  sea  sickness,  from  which,  metaphor 
ically,  you  predicted  I  should  suffer,  and  which 
overtook  me  in  reality  on  our  passage  from 
Southampton  to  St.  Malo?  You  will  have  re 
ceived  the  picture  postcards  of  the  various 
places  we  have  visited  during  our  ten  days  over 
here,  but  on  those  postcards  I  made  no  mention 
of  my  suffering  in  crossing,  it  was  not  that  I 
forgot,  for  the  memory  of  it  darkened  my  men 
tal  horizon  for  many  days,  but  such  a  painful 
subject  was  not  for  the  eyes  of  old  Hannah. 
As  we  well  know  old  Hannah  not  only  reads  all 
postcards  addressed  to  Sunset,  but  discusses 
the  matter  of  them  calmly  and  without  shame. 

12 


GWENDA 

By  the  way,  how  is  she  treating  you?  Write 
and  tell  me  that  she  is  not  making  you  eat 
stewed  rhubarb  every  day  at  dinner,  and  insist 
ing  upon  your  using  it  up  for  supper.  How  we 
hated  using  up  things,  especially  cold  suet  pud 
ding,  and  how  many  things  in  a  small  menage 
seem  to  want  using  up. 

But  to  return  to  my  sea  sickness,  as  I  say, 
such  a  distressing  subject  was  not  for  the  eyes 
of  old  Hannah,  who  would  eat  roast  pork  and 
Devonshire  cream  in  an  equinoctial  gale  off  the 
Bay  of  Biscay. 

I  felt  very  ashamed  of  myself,  because  the 
sea  was  almost  calm,  and  I  had  taken  two  doses 
of  the  mal-de-mer  remedy  in  the  train,  and 
when  I  got  into  my  bunk  I  lay  with  my  head 
flat,  and  my  eyes  shut,  so  that  I  should  not  see 
the  motion  of  the  boat,  and  my  ears  stuffed 
with  cotton  wool  so  that  I  should  not  hear  it, 
and  my  nose  covered  with  an  eau-de-Cologne 
handkerchief  so  that  I  should  not  smell  it,  and 
the  port-hole  wide  open  so  that  the  fresh  air 
should  blow  upon  me.  In  fact,  I  did  everything 
that  Mrs.  Tiddlegate  found  of  use  on  her  voy 
age  from  India,  and  I  repeated  poetry  and 
other  things  to  myself  in  a  crooning  whisper. 
And  it  was  really  Lionel  who  brought  things  to 

13 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

a  crisis  because  he  shook  me,  and  made  me  re 
move  the  cotton  wool  from  my  ears  to  listen  to 
him.  It  appears  he  had  been  shouting  at  me 
for  ten  minutes  to  know  if  I  had  any  objection 
to  the  port-hole  being  closed  as  he  was  shiver 
ing  with  cold. 

"  If  you  shut  the  port-hole  I  shall  die,"  I  said, 
pushing  the  wool  back  into  my  ears,  and  clos 
ing  my  eyes  tightly;  and  it  is  unnecessary  to 
give  particulars  of  what  happened  next  because 
it  would  be  unpicturesque  and  not  interesting. 

Some  hours  later  a  kind  stewardess  dressed 
me,  took  my  waving  shoes  from  me  and  placed 
them  on  my  feet,  pushed  my  uncertain  hair 
pins  and  hat  pins  into  my  head,  which  I  bore 
without  a  groan  owing  to  my  excessive  weak 
ness,  dragged  me  up  on  deck  to  the  blinding 
light  of  day,  placed  me  in  a  low  chair  and  in 
my  husband's  hands,  and  with  annoying  cheer 
fulness  told  me  I  should  soon  be  better,  and 
bustled  away. 

I  lay  for  a  few  minutes  with  my  eyes  shut  as 
the  light  was  intolerable,  and  then  Lionel's 
voice  came  to  me  as  from  a  great  distance: 
"  Have  you  still  got  your  ears  plugged  up  with 
wool,  dearest? " 

I  shook  my  head. 

14 


GWENDA 

"We  are  nearing  St.  Malo." 

If  he  had  informed  me  we  were  nearing  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven  I  should  have  remained 
unmoved. 

"You  are  feeling  better  now,  are  you  not? 
The  water  is  as  calm  as  a  duck  pond,  and  the 
morning  is  lovely — really  hot." 

With  vague  hands  I  drew  my  rug  more 
closely  around  me.  The  icy  coldness  of  sea 
sickness  makes  you  wonder  if  you  are  still 
alive,  or  already  passed  to  the  first  place  of 
torture. 

"  I  never  imagined  for  a  moment  that  you 
would  be  like  this,"  he  observed  next,  and  quite 
reproachfully. 

"Like  what?"  I  demanded  suddenly  open 
ing  my  eyes. 

"  Oh — ill.  It  is  so  ordinary.  I  imagined  you 
so  much  superior  to  the  average  girl  in  every 
respect,  Gwenda." 

I  was  so  amazed  that  I  got  well  at  once. 

"  Sea  sickness  is  not  under  one's  control,"  I 
said,  nettled. 

"  Oh,  yes  it  is  to  a  certain  extent.  You  be 
came  ill  through  taking  that  remedy,  and  stuff 
ing  your  ears  with  wool,  and  being  chilled  to 
the  bone  by  the  night  air.  Now  if  you  had 

15 


GWENDA 

forced  your  attention  upon   some   particular 
subject " 

"  I  did,"  I  interrupted,  "  I  repeated  some  lines 
over  and  over  to  myself— 

"What  were  they?" 

"  I'm  not  sure  if  I'm  well  enough  to  say  them, 
but  I'll  try." 

"  Have  some  breakfast  first  dear,"  he  sug 
gested  solicitously.  "  Some  tea  and  toast.  I 
had  mine  an  hour  ago,  and  you  must  be  hun 
gry." 

I  shuddered  at  the  bare  thought  of  food,  and 
began  my  lines :  " '  How  much  wood  could  a 
woodchuck  chuck,  if  a  woodchuck  could  chuck 
wood?  Why  just  as  much  wood  as  a  wood- 
chuck  could  chuck,  if  a  woodchuck  could  chuck 
wood.'  I  tried  to  get  the  whole  said  between 
each  lurch  of  the  boat,"  I  explained. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  were  ill."  Then  he 
slightly  turned  his  head  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"  Are  you  ill  too,  dear?  "  I  whispered,  trying 
to  keep  the  hope  out  of  my  voice  that  he  was. 
For  had  he  not  hinted  that  I  had  been  com 
monplace? 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied,  "  but  the  colour  of  your 
face  doesn't  tone  with  your  hat." 

At  first  I  gasped.    Then  I  laughed  outright. 
16 


GWENDA 

We  had  been  married  under  a  week  and  I  of 
fended  his  artistic  sensibility,  and  yet  I  felt 
simply  inclined  to  laugh.  It  was  so  ridiculous 
and  so  nice  and  frank  of  him.  It  showed  the 
good  terms  we  were  on  with  one  another — the 
bonne  camaraderie.  That  to  me  is  the  ideal  of 
married  happiness — good  comrades  and  lovers, 
lovers  and  good  comrades  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end. 

I  should  have  hated  Lionel  had  he  set  me  up 
on  a  pedestal  and  worshipped  me  from  afar. 
Pedestals  are  such  chilly  isolated  places  where 
all  the  draughts  of  the  world  do  congregate.  I 
want  to  be  loved  and  folded  in  warm  human 
arms  in  an  ordinary  flesh  and  blood  manner: 
kissed  and  smacked,  petted  and  scolded,  ad 
mired  and  criticised  and  found  fault  with.  Not 
treated  as  a  goddess,  but  as  a  very  human 
woman.  And  as  I  desire  to  be  loved,  so  I  want 
to  love  my  husband.  Each  of  us  seeing  the 
other's  faults,  but  viewing  them  tenderly  and 
mercifully,  and  loving  each  other  not  in  spite 
of  them,  but  with  them. 

Your  reiterated  suggestions  that  a  day  would 
come  when  I  should  alight  upon  the  discovery 
that  Lionel  was  just  an  ordinary  mortal  have 
often  made  me  smile.  Smile  at  your  want  of  dis- 

17 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

cernment  in  not  recognising  that  this  fact  has 
been  known  to  me  all  along.  An  ordinary  mortal, 
yes,  most  assuredly,  but  just  a  little  bit  nicer,  a 
little  more  attractive,  a  little  bit  more  interest 
ing  and  certainly  a  little  bit  cleverer  than  most, 
for  has  he  not  discovered  the  desirability  of 
me?  But  there,  I  am  again  getting  on  to  the 
subject  of  Lionel,  and  you  must  be  kind  and 
make  allowances  for  me.  It  is  difficult  when 
you  have  been  married  for  only  ten  days  not 
to  allow  your  husband  to  fill  up  the  land 
scape. 

But  because  I  am  so  happy,  do  not  for  one 
moment  think  that  I  am  forgetting  you.  In 
fact  tucked  away  right  at  the  back  of  my  heart 
there  is  a  little  sensation  of  pain  that  I  am  un 
able  to  see  you — say,  for  five  minutes  on  each 
beautiful  day.  It  just  mars  the  perfection  of 
everything.  It  is  the  first  time  since  you  took 
me  into  your  home  that  you  and  I  have  been 
separated  for  more  than  a  day.  Then  I  was  a 
little  girl  of  seven,  as  thin  as  a  lath  and  as  ugly 
as  sin — according  to  old  Hannah,  who  prides 
herself  on  speaking  the  truth — in  a  black  frock 
that  was  too  long  for  me,  because  I  recollect 
you  ran  a  tuck  in  it  the  following  day,  and  a 
white  tucker  that  scrubbed  my  throat.  And 

18 


GWENDA 

you  placed  me  on  a  high-backed  chair  and  pre 
sented  me  with  a  bun  and  a  glass  of  milk  and 
admonished  me  never  to  forget  to  pray  for  my 
two  deceased  parents  who  were  in  Heaven, 
every  morning  and  night  of  my  life. 

That  was  sixteen  years  ago,  and  like  Ste 
venson  I  can  truthfully  and  gladly  say  that  "  my 
whole  life  has  been  better  to  me  than  any 
poem."  And  you  and  I  have  had  some  gay 
times  together,  haven't  we?  Old  Hannah  may 
be  under  the  impression  that  you  are  every 
thing  a  gentle  well-behaved  economical  mistress 
ought  to  be,  but  you  are  lawless  at  heart  and  a 
thorough  pagan.  You  and  I  have  kicked  over 
the  traces  at  times,  though,  of  course,  you 
wouldn't  admit  it.  But  you  will  recollect  the 
occasion  quite  recently  upon  which  we  went  to 
Exeter  and  enjoyed  a  five  course  lunch  and  a 
half  flask  of  Chianti!  Also  with  what  brazen- 
ness  and  shamelessness  you  ordered  scrambled 
eggs  for  our  supper  that  evening  because  we 
were  '  so  hungry.'  Even  old  Hannah  was  cheat 
ed  and  forbore  to  refer  to  the  extravagance  of 
a  '  high '  supper. 

I  am  not  going  to  end  this  with  '  Your  lov 
ing  Gwenda,'  because  if  the  spirit  moves  me  I 
will  add  a  little  to  it  to-morrow,  and  a  little 

19 


GWENDA 

more  the  following  day,  and  so  on,  and  then 
when  my  screed  has  become  of  portentous  size 
and  length,  I  will  despatch  it  in  a  long  fat  en 
velope. 

June  2nd. — I  am  sitting  on  the  hotel  veran 
dah  at  Cancale  just  above  the  sea.  How  can  I 
conjure  up  the  picture?  I  don't  care  a  jot  about 
your  interdict  that  I  should  avoid  all  mention 
of  scenery  and  places,  because  this  is  something 
quite  exceptional.  And  I  know  you  really  love 
to  hear  about  the  out-of-the-way  corners  of  the 
world  you  yourself  have  not  visited,  wide  travel 
ler  though  you  have  been.  Take  for  granted  that 
the  sea  is  calm  and  blue  with  the  matchless  blue 
of  the  reflection  of  a  cloudless  June  sky.  Away 
far  out  against  the  horizon  Mont  St.  Michel 
stands  dimly  reflected  through  a  soft  filmy  haze. 
All  is  very  still  in  this  peaceful  little  Cancale. 
The  white  gulls  wheel  and  float  and  drop  noise 
lessly  on  to  the  sea.  The  air  is  sweet  and  fresh 
with  all  the  freshness  that  is  born  of  the  sea 
and  the  earth  in  early  summer.  Air  that  has 
absorbed  some  of  the  fragrance  of  the  little 
yellow  vetches  nodding  on  the  cliffs,  and  of  the 
honeysuckle  flinging  its  creamy  trumpets  over 
the  hedge  close  by. 

20 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

Lionel  has  sauntered  away  to  some  rock  to 
take  photographs.  M.  le  proprietaire  is  gently 
dozing  behind  his  paper  at  the  far  end  of  the 
verandah.  He  is  presumably  concealed  behind 
one  of  the  curtains,  but  a  frolicsome  little 
breeze  has  whisked  it  away,  and,  should  an  en 
ergetic  young  person  who  successfully  man 
ages  him  along  with  everything  else  in  the 
establishment  come  this  way,  there  will  be  ruc 
tions. 

M.  le  proprietaire  understands  not  a  word  of 
English,  and  our  French  is  so  sketchy  and  un 
reliable  that  at  meals  I  secrete  a  small  diction 
ary  on  my  knee  beneath  the  table,  and  while 
Marie,  our  pretty  waitress,  is  removing  the 
omelette  dish  to  the  back  regions,  I  am  able  to 
concoct  a  very  creditable  sentence  ere  she  re 
turns,  which  I  deliver  in  the  airy  fashion  of 
one  with  half-a-dozen  languages  at  her  finger 
tips.  But  yesterday  Marie  discovered  my  ig 
norance.  You  are  aware  of  my  absorbing  curi 
osity,  and  I  was  anxious  to  learn  the  relation 
ship  of  the  managing  young  person  and  M.  le 
proprietaire.  For  she  comes  to  us  at  meals 
with  a  solicitous  air  and,  in  a  perfect  torrent  of 
almost  unintelligible  French,  demands  if  our 
food  is  giving  us  complete  satisfaction. 

Of  course,  we  say  Bon.  Tres  bon,  and  won- 
21 


GWENDA 

der  who  she  is.  She  expresses  her  delight  and 
goes  away  to  stir  up  Monsieur  from  one  of  his 
dozes. 

"  Elle  est  la  parent  de  Monsieur"  said  Marie 
in  reply  to  my  question. 

"Which?"  I  cried  in  astonishment,  while 
Lionel  lit  a  cigarette  and  gazed  thoughtfully  at 
the  sea.  Have  you  ever  observed  that  men  re 
fuse  to  be  surprised  at  anything? 

Marie  repeated  her  statement. 

"Impossible,"  I  pronounced  with  emphasis. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Monsieur  looks  105,"  I  said  in  my  best 
French.  I  meant  65. 

She  now  stared  at  me. 

"  And  the  young  person — I  mean  la  dame 
looks  25." 

" Elle  est  la  parent  de  Monsieur"  Marie  re 
peated  obstinately,  whisked  away  the  dishes 
and  went  for  the  dessert. 

Cautiously  I  drew  forth  my  dictionary. 
"Parent — "  Marie  caught  me.  I  pretended 
not  to  have  been  caught,  and  laid  the  book  aside 
as  though  it  were  the  last  thing  I  wished  to 
consult. 

" Elle  est  la  parent  de  Monsieur"  she  mur 
mured,  with  a  gleam  of  mischief  in  her  dark 
eyes. 

22 


GWENDA 

"  Tres  bien!  I  don't  care  if  she  is  the  parent 
of  twins  of  Monsieur's  age  and  appearance.  It 
is  nothing  to  me,"  I  said,  motioning  to  her  that 
she  might  go.  And  don't  you  agree  with  me  in 
thinking  it  ridiculous  that  a  parent  and  a 
cousin  and  all  sorts  of  obscure  relationships 
are  one  and  the  same  thing  in  this  language  I  I 
do  like  simplicity  above  all  things. 

It  was  I  who  discovered  Cancale,  famous  ac 
cording  to  the  guide  books  for  nothing  but  its 
oyster  beds.  "  Let  us  go  and  see  it,"  I  sug 
gested.  So  we  drove  over  from  St.  Malo,  a 
long  and  most  uninteresting  drive,  and  Lionel 
was  just  observing  that  it  appeared  to  be  the 
end  of  everything  and  his  face  was  settling 
down  to  one  of  gloom,  when  we  turned  a  cor 
ner  and  below  us  lay  Cancale  and  the  hotel 
which  you  have  to  enter  through  the  roof.  Can 
you  imagine  the  fascination  of  this  ?  Down  the 
cliffs  you  go,  along  a  zig-zag  path  above  the 
sea,  a  narrow  path  with  banks  and  tall  grasses 
on  either  side  till  you  stumble  across  a  flight 
of  steps.  Descend  these  carefully,  because  they 
are  very  steep,  and  you  come  to  a  romantic 
looking  door  with  a  clanging  sort  of  dinner  bell 
which  warns  M.  le  proprietaire  of  your  prox 
imity.  Now  you  are  on  the  flat  roof  of  the  ho- 

23 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

tel,  enter  another  door-way  straight  in  front  of 
you,  and  you  are  in  the  cool  interior  with  flight 
upon  flight  of  well-carpeted  stairs  to  descend 
till  you  reach  the  salons  and  the  sunny  veran 
dah,  and  the  sea  lazily  lapping  your  feet. 

The  tide  has  just  turned,  and  so  swiftly  does 
it  run  out  that  soon  the  oyster  beds  will  be  re 
vealed,  and  as  from  nowhere  scores  of  fisher 
men  and  women  will  have  sprung,  busy  at  work, 
raking,  sorting,  dredging,  cleaning  the  succu 
lent  bivalve,  making  ready  for  the  autumn  when 
it  will  be  exported  all  over  France.  The  women 
chiefly  at  this,  for  the  men  have  gone  earlier 
in  their  small  brown  boats  to  the  lower  beds 
quite  a  long  way  out,  and  will  again  have  to 
wait  for  the  turn  of  the  tide  to  drift  them  and 
their  cargo  along  the  little  channels  and  staked- 
in  alley-ways  to  the  women. 

June  4th. — I  have  little  to  add  to  my  letter. 
This  has  been  a  day  of  strong  sunshine  and 
fresh  wind,  and  white  foamy  clouds  racing 
along  the  blue  of  Heaven,  and  white  foamy 
waves  breaking  against  the  foot  of  the  veran 
dah.  It  is  all  delicious,  and  my  body  feels  so 
light  and  airy  that  I  keep  racing  along  the 
cliffs,  racing  the  foamy  clouds  and  the  occa- 

24 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

sional  shadows.  How  wonderful  is  the  exhil 
aration  of  the  sea !  Even  now  I  can  recall  my 
sensation  when  I  arrived  at  Silvercombe  and 
first  caught  sight  of  it  from  my  little  bedroom 
window.  "  Is  it  true  ?  "  I  whispered,  fearing 
it  would  evaporate  before  my  eyes,  and  you 
laughed  and  kissed  me  and  opened  the  window 
wide  to  let  in  all  its  salt  freshness  and  sweet 
ness.  And  to-day  I  am  loving  it  with  such  in 
tensity  that,  like  the  great  poet  of  the  sea,  I 
sing: 

"  I  will  go  back  to  the  great  sweet  Mother, 

Mother  and  lover  of  men,  the  Sea. 
I  will  go  down  to  her,  I  and  none  other, 

Close  with  her,  kiss  her  and  mix  her  with  me." 

And  Lionel  says  I  am  mad,  quite  mad,  and  I 
only  laugh. 

Always  your  loving 

GWENDA. 


25 


LETTER   II 

BELLE  VUE  HOTEL,  CANCALE, 
BRITTANY,  June  6th. 

MY  DEAK  GRANTY: 

Lionel  says  I  must  come  and  bathe.  "We  can't 
manage  this  in  front  of  the  hotel,  even  at  high 
tide,  because  of  the  oyster  beds.  M.  le  pro- 
prietaire  pretends  we  can  and  points  to  two 
vans  moored  below  the  verandah.  But  we 
shake  our  heads  and  decline  to  be  impaled  on 
the  staked-in  enclosures. 

So  we  wander  up  the  stairs,  and  through  the 
roof  and  up  more  stairs  and  along  the  cliffs 
toward  Port  Maire;  gowns  and  towels  slung 
across  our  shoulders,  a  galette  for  our  lunch 
or  preliminary  lunch — for  we  have  only  had 
coffee  and  rolls — in  Lionel's  pocket,  and  a  ga 
lette  made  in  this  part  of  Brittany  is  quite  too 
delicious ;  over  the  short  crisp  grass  bestarred 
with  tiny  sea  flowers,  and  oh,  the  sounds  and 
scents  of  everything.  What  a  beautiful  sum 
mer  world!  My  own  happiness  frightens  me. 
"  Man  was  born  to  sorrow,"  I  say  to  myself, 

26 


GWENDA 

and  at  the  same  time  sting  my  bare  hand  badly 
with  a  nettle,  and  Lionel  laughs  at  my  dis 
comfiture. 

Presently  we  drop  down  the  cliffs  to  a  little 
secluded  cove,  where  there  is  not  a  creature  to 
be  seen,  only  the  white-sailed  fishing  boats  in 
the  distance  running  before  the  breeze.  I  en 
ter  my  cave  into  which  the  sunshine  filters,  and 
leisurely  undress,  scrunching  the  warm,  yellow 
sand  with  my  bare  toes.  Then  the  rush  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  picking  my  way  in  and  out 
of  the  sharp  little  stones,  for  bathing  in  shoes 
is  to  me  like  going  to  bed  in  gloves,  and  the 
plunge  into  the  cool  bracing  sea.  Lionel  is  kind 
enough  to  admire  my  swimming,  and  allows 
himself  to  be  raced,  and  saved  from  drowning, 
and  seized  by  the  hair,  and  dragged  through 
the  water,  and  says  what  chance  has  he  a  Lon 
doner  born  against  a  Devonshire  South  Coast 
girl? 

He  remarked  this  morning,  were  we  partak 
ing  of  our  petit  dejeuner,  that  he  could  not 
understand  my  choosing  the  coast  of  Brittany 
for  a  honeymoon — especially  in  June,  when  it 
is  so  empty — seeing  that  I  have  always  lived 
at  a  quiet  seaside  place,  when  I  might  have 
gone  to  Paris.  And  he  pronounced  "  Paris  "  as 

27 


GWENDA 

a  prospector  shouts  "  gold."  And  I  said  we 
would  go  another  time  to  Paris.  And,  some 
how,  I  couldn't  explain  that  I  wanted  to  be  alone 
in  the  country  with  him  in  these  first  few  weeks, 
to  show  him  the  things  I  loved,  with  only  the 
wind  and  the  larks  and  the  tender  newly- 
opened  leaves  and  flowers  as  companions  in 
our  wanderings.  Soon  I  shall  be  in  the  whirl 
of  a  London  Season  receiving  callers,  return 
ing  calls.  Entertaining  and  being  entertained. 
Going  to  balls,  concerts,  theatres,  flower  shows, 
race  meetings,  regattas.  At  least  Lionel  says 
I  shall  go  to  them,  so  I  suppose  I  shall.  And 
I  shall  put  on  a  brave  face,  have  a  long  train, 
and  try  to  enjoy  myself. 

If  Lionel  be  a  Society  Man,  I  must  be  a  So 
ciety  Woman.  Can  you  picture  your  Gwenda 
in  such  a  position?  Long  ago  I  realised  that 
when  Lionel  piped  I  should  dance,  dance  till 
my  legs  dropped  off. 

I  can  hear  you  say  "  bosh." 

But  it  is  so.  My  husband  has  a  way  with 
him,  as  old  Hannah  says,  that  I  cannot  resist. 
He  gets  round  me.  I  say  I  won't  do  a  thing. 
and  the  next  moment  I  am  doing  it,  and  not 
only  doing  it,  but  glorying  in  it. 

And  now  you  will  say  I  am  a  fool,  floppy 
28 


GWENDA 

and  characterless.     Granty,  I  admit  the  im 
peachment. 

As  evening  approaches  I  say  "  Shall  we  stroll 
along  the  quay  and  watch  the  return  of  the 
fishing  boats  ? " 

And  my  lord  assents.  So  I  don  my  white 
woolly  coat,  for  muslins,  by  the  sea,  are  airy, 
diaphanous  garments,  and  we  descend  the 
broad  steps  of  the  verandah,  not  up  through 
the  roof  this  time,  and  M.  le  proprietaire,  who 
is  always  on  the  verandah,  watches  us  walk 
through  the  garden  with  its  prim  French  beds 
and  tufts  of  pampas  grass,  to  the  little  parade. 
First  we  pause  in  front  of  a  monster  tin  fish 
which  spreads  its  fins  and  tail  across  the  front 
of  a  black,  tarred  wooden  shanty,  advertising 
the  fact  that  '  Un  parent,  (the  same  old  parent 
turned  up  again)  un  ami  recevra  avec  plaisir 
la  succulent  huitre  de  Cancale.  Expedition  im 
mediate.  Degustation  sur  le  pare,  (that's  the 
bit  I  like)  Votre  serviteur  Lehoerff  Pierre 
fils,  74,  Quai  de  la  Houle,  Cancale.'  Lehoerff 
Pierre  fils  appears  from  the  doorway  behind 
the  tail  of  the  fish,  a  swarthy,  good-looking  fel 
low,  and  presses  some  of  his  advertising  bills 
upon  us.  There  can  be  no  degustation  sur  le 

29 


GWENDA 

pare  to-night,  for  the  month,  being  minus  an  B, 
is  not  accommodating.  Then  we  wander  past 
the  little  jetty  at  the  corner,  and  the  shop  which 
sells  fully-rigged  Breton  boats  at  50  centimes 
apiece.  Past  the  Cafe  with  the  smiling  rosy- 
cheeked  girl  who  gives  us  after  dinner  coffee  in 
conjunction  with  a  lesson  in  French.  She  is 
patient  and  optimistic  and  full  of  hope  that  my 
tongue  will  circumvent  absinthe  before  we 
leave  the  place  for  good.  Past  the  little  hotel 
with  its  ambitious  appellation  of  Hotel  de  1'Eu- 
rope,  past  the  Cafe  des  Etrangers,  and  the 
Cafe  des  Pechers  till  we  come  to  the  Calvary 
Square.  And  here  again  we  come  to  pause  to 
gaze  at  the  drooping,  sorrowful  figure  of  the 
Christ  dyed  blood-red  in  the  rays  of  the  sink 
ing  sun.  Then  again  past  the  boat-building 
yard,  and  two  or  three  more  cafes,  and  nets 
spread  everywhere  and  anywhere  to  dry,  till 
we  come  to  the  further  jetty  and  the  scrap  of 
beach  with  its  shell-strewn  surface  as  finely 
powdered  as  pearl  dust.  Here  drawn  up  in  a 
line,  with  their  backs  to  the  wall,  are  the  house 
wives  ready  to  do  a  haggle  as  soon  as  the  fish 
is  landed.  A  fine  race  these  Breton  peasant 
women  with  their  black  hair  braided  so  neatly, 
and  their  dark  eyes  and  fine  foreheads  and 

30 


GWENDA 

level  eyebrows.  And  how  infinitely  more  pic 
turesque  than  our  own  poor  women,  in  their 
snowy  caps  and  short  skirts  and  jerseys  and 
sabots ;  and  what  pleasant  low-toned  voices  and 
musical  laughs ! 

Now  the  boats  are  in,  and  the  scene  becomes 
an  animated  one.  Fish  are  tossed  about  from 
hand  to  hand.  A  woman  weighing  a  large  con 
ger  up  and  down  with  thoughtful  air,  abstract 
edly  brushes  her  baby's  sleeping  face  with  its 
moving  tail.  The  sun,  with  a  last  dying  effort, 
floods  the  sky  and  sea  and  harbour  with  a  won 
drous  light,  and  the  whole  scene  becomes  one 
of  magical  beauty.  The  men  and  women  begin 
to  move  away,  some  of  them  wheeling  barrows 
of  fish,  others  arm  in  arm  with  baskets  and  ba 
bies  perched  on  their  shoulders.  A  hard,  per 
haps,  but  a  wholesome  and  beautiful  life  to 
those  who  love  to  dwell  in  the  clean  wind- 
cleansed  places  of  the  earth.  And  they  looked 
happy,  happy  and  contented. 

So  absorbed  had  I  been  in  the  scene  that  I 
forgot  Lionel,  forgot  everything,  and  as  the 
woman  with  the  conger  eel  and  the  baby  passed 
me,  I  spoke  to  her  and  patted  the  baby's  fishy 
cheek. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  very  fine  one,"  she  said  with 
31 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

pride,  in  patois  French,  and  I  wasn't  sure  if 
she  were  referring  to  her  offspring  or  the  eel. 

"  Gwenda !  "  Lionel's  voice  sounded  tired. 
"Are  you  ready?  I  have  had  enough  of  this, 
and  I  am  so  hungry.  Come  away." 

And  reluctantly  I  turned  about. 

The  harbour  light  suddenly  twinkled  forth. 
More  lights  shone  from  the  row  of  little  cafes. 
The  day  was  done.  The  golden  splendour  had 
gone,  the  amber  and  rose  had  faded  from  the 
sky.  A  soft  velvety  twilight  was  stealing  o'er 
the  land,  and  a  hush — as  though  the  earth  was 
still  holding  its  breath  at  the  glory  of  the  sun 
set — brooded  over  the  sea. 

In  silence  we  wended  our  way  back  to  the  ho 
tel.  My  heart  was  too  full  for  words.  Too  full 
of  the  beauty  and  gladness  of  life,  for  joy  is 
very  close  to  tears. 

June  7th. — We  leave  for  England  to-morrow. 
Will  there  be  a  budget  from  you  awaiting  me! 
I  have  received  three  scrubby  postcards  from 
you  since  I  lejft  you.  Your  refusal  to  bother  me 
with  letters  on  my  honeymoon  was  simply  a 
neat  way  of  getting  out  of  writing  on  thin  for 
eign  paper  which  is  an  abomination  to  your 
soul. 

32 


GWENDA 

Did  the  possibility  of  writing  on  ordinary 
paper  never  strike  you?  Or  had  old  Hannah 
forbidden  or  objected  to  the  extra  postage 
which  would  be  incurred  thereby? 

Granty,  you  are  not  to  permit  old  Hannah  to 
boss  you.  I  have  been  saying  this  ever  since  I 
knew  you,  and  with  little  result.  You  say  I  am 
weak  because  when  in  your  or  Lionel's  hands  I 
am  like  melted  candle  grease.  While  you,  you 
in  the  hands  of  Hannah  are  like  the  grease 
when  it  has  been  wiped  up ! 

I  am  longing  for  all  your  news.  I  hope  you 
are  not  lonely,  dear  one.  And  yet,  selfish  pig 
that  I  am,  I  like  to  think  that  you  miss  me  the 
tiniest  fraction.  You  are  only  my  Great  Aunt 
— not  a  very  near  relation — and  yet  I  have 
never  felt  like  a  great  niece,  nor  any  other 
form  of  niece  to  you.  Neither  have  I  felt  like 
a  daughter,  nor  a  grand-daughter,  nor  a  sister 
— simply  a  friend,  and  your  very  own  loving 
Gwenda. 

To-day  I  am  longing  for  a  sight  of  your  pink 
shawl,  the  best  one  which  exactly  matches  the 
colour  of  your  cheeks,  and  for  your  black  silk 
apron  with  its  narrow  elastic  waistband  and 
jet  button.  Nobody  but  you  ever  wore  so  tricky 
and  dainty  an  apron,  or  one  that  possessed  a 

33 


GWENDA 

roomier  pocket.  It  grieves  me  to  think  that 
there  are  no  old  ladies  in  London  who  wear  rich 
black  silk  aprons.  I  have  asked  Lionel  if  there 
is  the  faintest  possibility  of  such  a  thing;  and 
he  says  not  the  faintest. 

London  is  beginning  to  alarm  me,  but  I  hide 
it  behind  a  brave  front.  I  remember  your 
words :  "  Unsophistication  and  gaucherie  are 
forgivable  in  a  girl,  but  unpardonable  in  a  mar 
ried  woman." 

I  enquired  of  Lionel  the  names  of  his  ser 
vants  as  we  were  returning  from  bathing  just 
now.  And  the  butler,  who  has  been  in  his  ser 
vice  for  ten  years,  is  called  Balbriggan,  and  the 
footman  Hillingbran — a  bit  muddling. 

I  have  been  since  practising  saying  (under 
my  breath)  "  Home,  Hillingbran,"  when  he 
closes  the  door  of  my  carriage,  "  Harrods' 
Stores,  Hillingbran."  And  I  hope  I  shan't 
drop  one  of  the  H's  in  my  excitement.  I  wish 
Lionel  wasn't  rich.  I  think  above  everything 
else  I  would  like  my  husband  to  have  been  a 
gypsy  with  a  caravan.  I  should  have  been 
more  than  content  to  sit  at  his  side,  my  legs 
dangling,  feather  brooms  and  carpet  whisks 
bobbing  behind  us  swinging  through  leafy  lanes, 
a  camp  fire  at  night,  just  the  two  of  us,  and  the 

34 


GWENDA 

stars  overhead.  But  I  am  afraid  lie  is  not  cut 
out  for  camp  life.  He  is  so  particular,  and 
Bodkins,  his  man,  is  awful.  I  mean  awful  in 
his  primness,  from  what  I  can  gather. 

As  I  didn't  bring  a  maid  away,  not  possess 
ing  one,  Lionel  didn't  bring  Bodkins,  and  I  im 
agine  it  has  been  the  greatest  sacrifice  of  his 
life.  But  could  you  imagine  a  honeymoon  with 
a  person  named  Bodkins  in  the  background  ?  I 
couldn't.  It  would  take  away  all  the  romance. 
So  I  have  packed  for  Lionel.  He  is  very  help 
less,  and  was  so  worried  over  it  that  I  cleared 
him  away  and  took  possession  of  his  suit  cases 
and  portmanteaux.  I  feel  it  will  be  ages  before 
I  have  the  opportunity  of  doing  anything  for 
him  again  with  the  prospect  of  all  those  ser 
vants  staring  me  in  the  face,  and  it  was  the 
touching  and  handling  of  his  clothes  that  sud 
denly  made  me  wish  that  he  had  been  a  hawker. 

Presently  we  are  motoring  to  Mont  St.  Mi 
chel,  and  will  it  disappoint  me  when  I  see  it 
close  at  hand?  For  distance  has  lent  it  en 
chantment,  and  out  of  the  blue  haze  it  has  stood 
forth  a  dream-like  monument,  mystical  against 
the  inarticulate  line  of  sky  and  sea  mystical 
and  misunderstandable.  And  it  is  so  often 
thus  with  reality;  only  anticipation  and  retro- 

35 


GWENDA 

spection  bring  us  absolutely  unalloyed  pleasure 
because  of  the  power  we  possess,  that  has  been 
given  to  most  of  us,  of  wiping  away  all  sorrow 
from  the  past  and  seeing  no  pain  in  the  future. 
I  believe  it  was  you  who  suggested  this  to  me, 
and  I  often  find  myself  cribbing  your  ideas. 
Few  of  us  remember  anything  but  the  joys  of 
our  childish  days.  We  forget  the  weary  les 
sons  on  summer  afternoons,  the  punishments 
for  our  misdoing,  the  awful  dark  nights  when 
the  wind  and  bogies  were  whistling  at  the  win 
dows  and  down  the  chimneys  and  under  the 
doors  and  we  dived  our  heads  beneath  the  bed 
clothes,  only  coming  up  when  suffocation  was 
imminent.  We  forget  the  ink  on  our  pinafores 
and  the  awful  moment  of  confession  to  the  par 
ticular  Olympian  set  in  authority  over  us.  We 
forget  the  tight  painful  curl  rags  at  night — 
when  our  heads  seemed  to  be  resting  on  swollen 
chestnuts — and  the  scrubby  frilly  tuckers  in 
our  necks,  and  the  being  ordered  to  bed  when 
the  fire  was  burning  its  brightest  and  we  were 
at  full  length  face  downward  on  the  white 
bear-skin  rug  and  had  arrived  at  exactly  the 
most  thrilling  point  in  our  story.  We  only  rec 
ollect  the  glorious  days  when  we  fished  and 
bathed  and  rolled  in  the  hay,  and  had  camp 

36 


GWENDA 

fires  on  desert  islands  in  the  proximity  of  the 
rhubarb  bed.  When  we  had  cream  with  our 
strawberries,  and  Castle  pudding  with  sherry 
sauce  on  our  birthdays.  When  we  discovered 
the  first  wren's  nest  in  the  violet  bank,  and  the 
first  swallow's  beneath  the  eaves  of  the  barn. 
When  we  had  log  fires  at  Christmas  and  car 
ols  ;  and  paste-egging  at  Easter  with  five  thrill 
ing  black-faced  men  in  the  kitchen,  Lord  Nel 
son  with  a  bunch  of  blue  ribbons  down  to  his 
knee;  and  a  jolly  Jack  Tar;  and  a  lady  so  fine 
(a  black-faced  man  in  a  bonnet  and  shawl  was 
exciting  beyond  description),  and  lastly,  Toss 
pot,  Tosspot  with  a  long  straw  tail  and  a  tall 
hat  and  a  wicked  expression !  Even  now  I  shud 
der  when  I  think  of  Tosspot. 

And  so  it  is  with  anticipation.  Don't  we  all 
build  our  castle  in  Spain  f  A  goodly  pile  of  fair 
stone  and  marble  and  alabaster,  without  flaw  or 
crack.  No  cheap  glazed  yellow  bricks  and  un 
satisfactory  mortar,  but  a  graceful  monument 
showing  up  its  pure  outline  against  the  blue  of 
the  sky. 

Ah,  how  my  own  days  spread  before  me  with 
Lionel — a  crescendo  of  pure  unalloyed  happi 
ness.  Not  that  I  am  not  enjoying  the  present, 
the  actual  to-day.  My  spirits  are  so  great — 

37 


GWENDA 

and  everyone  knows  how  uplifted  I  can  get  on 
occasions — that  I  have  great  ado  to  keep  from 
laughing  when  there  is  nothing  to  laugh  at; 
but  how  many  of  us  really  live  at  the  moment? 
Take  for  example  my  walk  along  the  cliffs  with 
Lionel  an  hour  ago.  I  was  enjoying  the  braced- 
up  sensation  of  my  body  after  bathing,  when 
the  flesh  is  cool  yet  tingly,  alert  yet  serenely 
reposeful,  I  was  loving  the  warmth  of  the  sun 
shine  through  my  thin  cotton  clothing,  the 
springiness  of  the  turf  beneath  my  feet,  the 
light  on  the  wide  sea,  the  gentle  rhythmic 
sound  of  breaking  waves,  the  scent  of  summer 
o'er  the  land,  the  soft  shiver  of  the  south  wind 
through  a  field  of  rye  a  foot  above  the  ground. 
I  know  now  I  was  happily  conscious  of  it  all, 
I  am  looking  back.  But  at  the  time  I  was  bus 
ily  talking  with  Lionel  of  our  future  life  in 
town,  of  our  amusements,  entertainments,  river 
parties,  dinners,  balls.  I  was  hardly  realising 
the  ecstasy  of  the  moment.  How  I  prose  on! 
The  beauty  of  life  and  this  world  has  got  into 
my  veins,  intoxicating  me  after  the  fashion  of 
heady  old  port.  I  just  like  to  sit  and  sit  on 
this  sunny  verandah  with  Lionel  somewhere 
close  at  hand.  With  M.  le  proprietaire  dozing 
behind  his  paper;  with  the  parent  bustling 

38 


GWENDA 

about  achieving  more  noise  than  work;  with 
Marie  offering  you  oeufs  a  la  coque,  and  oeufs 
sur  le  plat,  and  oeufs  poches,  and  oeufs  brou- 
illes;  and  with  Jacques  raking  away  at  the 
gravel  in  the  prim  garden  below,  raking  slowly 
and  methodically  without  haste  and  over-much 
energy;  for  "what  need  is  there  for  energy?" 
his  placid  back  seems  to  enquire,  "  the  day  is 
warm  and  life  is  long.  The  parent  bustles, 
there  is  not  room  for  two  to  make  a  fussation." 
Lionel  bids  me  put  on  my  hat  and  coat.  The 
motor  which  is  to  bear  us  on  our  excursion  is 
snorting  below.  M.  le  proprietaire  has  wak 
ened  up  guiltily  for  the  parent's  eye  is  upon 
him.  Glad  of  an  excuse  for  his  existence  he 
has  procured  me  a  large  envelope  for  the  en 
closure  of  this  rambling  epistle.  If  you  only 
like  the  practical  bits  of  it,  skip  the  sentimental. 
But  recollect  you  offered  to  be  a  dumping 
ground  for  all  my  moods  and  tenses ;  and  I  have 
taken  you  at  your  word. 

Your  loving 

GWENDA. 


39 


LETTER   III 

PRINCE'S  GATE,  LONDON;  S.  W.; 
June  14th. 

MY  DEAR  GRANTY  : 

A  week  has  elapsed  since  my  last,  and  never 
a  moment  to  send  you  my  greetings. 

It  was  like  a  bit  of  home  to  find  your  letter 
awaiting  me.  I  was  depressed,  can  you  imag 
ine  it?  I  arrived  at  Waterloo  cold,  squeamish, 
and  with  my  hat  on  one  side.  Lionel  told  me  of 
it,  and  I  said  "  Does  it  matter!  I  can  still  feel 
the  boat  rocking."  I  raised  my  right  leg  high 
as  I  spoke,  feeling  I  was  climbing  up  the  side 
of  the  deck,  and  Lionel  was  quite  shocked  and 
whispered  that  Hillingbran  was  staring  at  me. 
Hillingbran  and  a  coachman  seated  on  the  box 
of  a  gorgeous  carriage  were  awaiting  us.  "  Do 
you  mean  the  'Home,  Hillingbran'  man?"  I 
asked  feebly,  and  Lionel  with  an  astonished 
look  simply  pushed  me  into  the  carriage  with 
out  replying. 

"  You  will  look  better  when  you  have  had  a 
bath  and  a  change,"  he  observed  presently. 

40 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"  Am  I  as  bad  as  that  ?  "  I  enquired. 

"  If  only  your  hat  would  keep  straight,"  his 
tone  was  depressed. 

I  gave  it  a  vicious  push,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  our  marriage  felt  cross. 

A  whole  retinue  of  servants  received  us  in 
the  hall  and  did  obeisance  before  us.  And  I 
felt  sorry  I  had  worn  my  second  best  coat  and 
skirt. 

Then  your  letter  was  handed  to  me  on  an 
enormous  silver  salver. 

Granty  you  never  told  me  if  one  should  thank 
servants  when  they  present  you  with  things  on 
silver  salvers,  or  just  receive  them  with  a  care 
less  nod.  I  wanted  badly  to  squeeze  Balbrig- 
gan's  hand,  I  was  so  frightfully  glad  to  have 
your  letter,  but  he  looked  forbidding. 

I  felt  strange  and  shaky  in  my  new  surround 
ings  ;  the  hall  seemed  so  large  and  I  felt  so  thin, 
as  I  had  had  another  bad  passage,  and  my  feet 
still  had  a  tendency  to  raise  themselves  very 
high  as  I  walked  up  the  wide  staircase,  trying 
not  to  mind  the  disappointment  of  the  servants, 
writ  large  on  their  faces,  in  this  new  mistress 
of  theirs. 

Your  letter,  crushed  tightly  in  my  cold  hand, 
supported  me  a  little,  and  as  soon  as  I  reached 

41 


GWENDA 

my  room  I  fell  to  devouring  it,  and  then  to 
laughing. 

My  poor  dear,  you  must  not  allow  yourself  to 
be  bullied  by  Hannah.  You  mustn't  be  meek 
now  that  you  are  without  my  help  and  protec 
tion.  You  must  make  a  firm  stand  at  the  be 
ginning.  Your  fear  of  most  women  and  cour 
age  with  all  men  has  always  been  a  matter  of 
surprise  to  me.  Now  that  over  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  divide  Hannah  and  me,  I  feel  as 
brave  as  a  lion,  and  if  she  were  here  at  this 
moment  I  believe  I  should  find  courage  to  say : 
"  Peace  varlet — "  No  varlet  means  a  man, 
"  peace  woman !  I  command  thee  to  hold  thy 
tongue."  Wouldn't  Hannah  nearly  burst  from 
surprise  ? 

I  am  sorry  Stringer  has  been  tiresome  over 
the  packing  of  the  wedding  presents.  If  he  ran 
out  of  straw,  why  couldn't  he  use  something 
else?  The  Silvercombe  natives  are  so  obsti 
nate.  I  hope  it  has  not  worried  you.  Give  him 
beans  with  my  compliments.  I  wonder  what 
you  are  doing  at  this  moment.  I  picture  you  in 
your  old  garden  hat  with  the  little  scraggy 
feather  that  once  was  black  and  is  now  a  rusty 
brown.  "What  a  battered  disgraceful  thing  that 
hat  is !  And  you  have  five  others  put  away  in 

42 


GWENDA 

the  spare-room  wardrobe.  I  have  lately  dis 
covered  your  motive  for  l  saving  things  up.' 
It  is  that  if  you  wait  long  enough,  your  gar 
ments  become  again  fashionable.  Tight  sleeves 
were  worn  some  years  ago,  tight  sleeves  are 
'in'  again — your  foulard  has  become  up-to- 
date.  You  are  very  tricky  and  clever! 

I  have  oceans  of  things  to  tell  you.  But 
where  to  begin  I  know  not,  and  I  shall  never 
get  it  all  in  for  I  have  scarcely  had  five  min 
utes  the  whole  week  in  which  to  breathe.  We 
have  torn  about  from  morning  till  night.  Been 
in  a  constant  state  of  '  rush.'  And  that  is  the 
correct  thing  to  be  in  Town.  Everybody  you 
meet  pants.  "  My  dear  I  am  simply  rushed  off 
my  legs."  They  fly  from  one  enjoyment  to  an 
other.  They  tell  you  with  beaming  smiles  they 
are  perfect  rags.  Perhaps  feeling  raggy  is 
much  nicer  than  it  sounds.  They  tick  their  en 
gagements  off  their  fingers  with  the  same  pride 
as  an  Indian  war  chief  counts  his  scalps.  Pre 
sumably  their  popularity  and  social  standing 
are  denoted  by  the  number  of  their  engage 
ments.  I  thought  I  was  a  strong  girl,  but  I  can 
truthfully  say  that  at  the  end  of  three  days  I, 
too,  felt  a  "  perfect  rag,"  and  not  a  cheerful 
beaming  one  like  the  other  rags,  but  a  worn-out 

43 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

old  dish  cloth.  The  only  people  I  have  met  up 
to  now  who  appear  to  have  any  leisure  are  the 
servants.  My  dear  Granty,  the  butler's  walk 
is  a  poem,  a  Mendelssohn's  Song  without  words ; 
the  leisureliness  of  it,  the  reposefulness,  bring 
such  a  sense  of  serenity  and  peace  to  me,  that 
I,  for  one,  will  never  need  a  rest  cure.  And  the 
tone  in  which  he  says :  "  Certainly,  Madame," 
embraces  all  the  harmony  and  modulation  of 
which  the  human  voice  is  capable,  not  caressing 
and  not  exactly  subservient,  but  just  right. 
And  when  he  announces  "  dinner  is  served,"  I 
feel  he  ought  by  rights  to  be  saying :  "  Come 
into  the  garden  Maud,"  or  "  Drink  to  me  only 
with  thine  eyes,"  no,  that  comes  when  he  is 
placing  the  port  and  liqueurs  on  the  table. 

I  managed  "  Home,  Hillingbran  "  right  away 
the  first  tune  without  so  much  as  a  tremor, 
though  I  must  confess  I  said  it  in  the  wrong 
place  because  I  really  wanted  to  go  to  the 
Army  &  Navy  Stores,  but  I  daren't  alter  it.  A 
coachman  and  a  footman's  backs  seem  so  for 
bidding  when  they  exactly  match  and  fill  up  the 
whole  of  the  landscape. 

I  have  a  victoria,  a  pair  of  bays,  a  motor 
brougham  and  a  King  Charles  spaniel  all  to 
myself,  and  I  am  terrified  of  the  lot.  Most  of 

44 


GWENDA 

all  of  the  King  Charles  because  he  bites  when 
his  muzzle  is  off. 

Lionel  suggested  I  should  have  something  to 
drive  with  me,  and  when  I  said — perhaps  a  lit 
tle  wistfully,  which  was  foolish  of  me  because, 
of  course,  he's  busy  like  everybody  else  — 
"Won't  you  be  coming  with  me?"  he  seemed 
quite  surprised  and  reminded  me  that  his 
mornings  were  crammed  up.  He  went  on  to 
say  that  a  King  Charles  was  always  fashion 
able.  Black  poms  and  Schipperkes  and  pugs 
and  various  other  small  dogs  might  have  a 
vogue  for  a  time,  but  a  King  Charles  was  the 
most  reliable,  and  he  would  get  me  one  with  a 
long  pedigree.  For  a  moment  I  thought  he  was 
only  joking,  but  catching  sight  of  his  face  I 
saw  he  was  quite  serious,  and  suddenly  I  felt 
dazed.  What  queer  world  was  this  into  which 
I  had  stepped!  Or  was  it  that  I  was  queer 
and  the  world  normal?  I  felt  I  would  like  to 
get  away  into  some  wide  space  such  as  the 
moors  at  Blackhill  and  think  things  out.  But 
Lionel  was  talking  away  quite  gravely  and  I 
had  to  recall  my  wandering  attention.  "  Some 
women  have  pet  monkeys,"  he  was  saying, 
"  but  they  are  a  little  uncertain.  Mrs.  Fair- 
bridger's  grabbed  at  her  veil  the  other  after- 

45 


noon  when  she  was  driving  in  the  Park,  tore  it 
off  and  removed  one  of  her  curls  with  it.  Mrs. 
Fairbridger  was  furious,  and  it  was  an  awk 
ward  moment  for  her  and  the  spectators.  I  be 
lieve  she  had  the  monkey  killed." 

"Why  not  a  mongoose?"  I  suggested,  sti 
fling  something  between  a  laugh  and  a  scream. 

Lionel  examined  me  carefully,  as  though  try 
ing  to  read  my  countenance,  but  finding  I  was 
perfectly  grave  he  replied,  "  I  am  not  sure  that 
I  know  what  a  mongoose  is." 

"  It's  an  ichneumon,  and  comes  from  India, 
and  is  dead  on  snakes." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  I  hardly  think  it  would  do 
as  a  carriage  companion  though  it  would  be 
very  original;  better  stick  to  a  King  Charles." 

And  I  know  he  suggested  the  whole  thing  be 
cause  he  doesn't  want  me  to  feel  "  out  of  it "  or 
lonely.  If  it  is  the  fashion  for  women  to  drive 
with  monkeys  and  poodles  and  cockatoos  and 
squirrels,  I  must  do  likewise.  He  is  so  thought 
ful  and  considerate. 

So  my  King  Charles  has  arrived  and  is  called 
Chandy  or  Shandy  for  short,  and  is  simply  a 
detestable  little  brute.  He  bit  Hillingbran  the 
first  time  he  was  lifted  into  the  carriage,  and 
Hillingbran  dropped  him  on  to  the  pavement 

46 


GWENDA 

like  a  hot  potato,  and  I  hoped  he  was  killed 
outright,  but  he  wasn't,  and  actually  started  on 
Hillingbran's  legs.  So  now  he  always  wears  a 
muzzle,  and  I  am  hoping  that  he  will  soon  die 
from  over-eating. 

During  the  last  two  days  about  a  hundred  of 
Lionel's  friends  have  called,  and  I'm  nearly 
worn  to  a  shadow,  and  my  smile  has  become 
permanently  fixed.  You  know  the  sort  of  inane 
society  smile,  mirthless  and  horrid.  I'm  not 
unfriendly  and  I'm  not  churlish,  but  to  be  in 
troduced  to  a  hundred  new  people  at  one  fell 
blow  is  exhausting.  Do  you  remember  on  our 
last  "  At  Home  "  day  at  Silvercombe  how  wild 
ly  dissipated  we  felt  because  we  had  seven 
callers  ? 

I  wondered  how  all  these  people  knew  we 
were  back,  and  it  appears  that  Lionel  sent  cards 
out  sometime  ago,  announcing  that  I  should  be 
"  At  Home  "  on  the  13th  and  14th  of  June. 

"  But  supposing  we  had  lengthened  our  hon 
eymoon,"  I  suggested. 

"  But  we  shouldn't.  We  had  no  intention  of 
missing  half  the  Season." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  cared,"  I  sighed.  "  Li 
onel,  I  am  terrified  at  the  thought  of  all  these 
people."  And  he  told  me  not  to  be  silly,  he 

47 


GWENDA 

would  help  me,  and  I  must  wear  one  of  my 
prettiest  gowns — white  for  choice — and  just  be 
my  own  bright  self  and  everybody  would  be 
charmed. 

This  was  rather  cheering.  I  wore  my  bro cl 
eric  Anglaise,  perhaps  it  was  a  bit  too  starchy, 
for  it  appears  to  be  the  fashion  in  London  to 
resemble  a  sinuous  caterpillar,  but  I  can  truth 
fully  say  I  never  saw  an  assemblage  look  less 
charmed  with  anybody.  Have  you  ever  tried 
to  be  bright?  Bright,  for  an  occasion?  Don't. 
You  feel  like  a  smiling  Hindoo  god,  or  a  lady 
missionary.  Seventeen  people  asked  me  for  my 
opinion  of  the  Academy,  and  I  was  still  bright 
at  the  seventeenth.  Six  enquired  if  I  consid 
ered  ordinary  or  auction  bridge  the  better 
game ;  and  eleven  wanted  to  know  if  I  had  seen 
"  The  Blushing  Belle  of  Berlin."  Nobody  wait 
ed  for  a  reply.  Whether  they  thought  from  my 
appearance  that  I  should  be  unequal  to  an  in 
telligent  discussion  of  any  subject,  I  am  not 
prepared  to  say,  but,  at  a  bound,  they  one  and 
all  rushed  away  from  the  Academy,  bridge,  and 
the  theatre,  and  started  on  aeroplanes,  North 
Pole  exploration,  the  Liberal  government,  the 
super-tax,  novels  by  Egbert  Bales,  and  Laur 
ence  Hope's  poetry.  Nobody  listened  to  any- 

48 


GWENDA 

body,  everybody  shouted,  and  they  all  seemed 
quite  happy.  So  I  stopped  being  "  bright,"  and 
made  a  good  tea.  And  when  a  pale  stout  man 
asked  me  if  I  liked  and  understood  "  the  Curse 
of  London,"  the  picture  of  the  year,  I  replied 
that  I  was  sure  he  really  didn't  want  to  know, 
and  wouldn't  he  have  a  mustard  and  cress  sand 
wich  instead. 

Lionel  must  have  overheard  me,  for  he  re 
proved  me  later,  quite  nicely  and  kindly.  It 
appears  the  stout  man  was  Sir  William  Wil- 
braham,  an  M.P.,  a  millionaire,  and  owner  of 
one  of  the  finest  collections  of  pictures  in  Lon 
don.  I  expressed  my  sorrow,  and  I  really  was 
sorry;  and  to-day  I  have  merely  smiled  and 
said  nothing.  And  at  the  end  of  an  hour's  time 
I  heard  a  man  say  to  a  pretty  girl  that  I  ap 
peared  to  be  very  immature,  but  amiable.  A 
pleasant  thing  to  have  said  about  you!  Don't 
you  think? 

One  fact  I  have  learned,  namely,  that  my 
husband  was  one  of  the  most  sought  after 
bachelors  in  London.  And  you  and  I  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  We  were  immature, 
weren't  we?  But  if  he  had  not  possessed  a  six 
pence,  it  would  have  been  all  the  same  to  me. 
He  should  have  shared  the  bit  that  father  left 

49 


me  in  consols.  And  had  we  been  obliged  to 
earn  our  livings,  make  our  bread  and  butter,  I 
shouldn't  have  minded,  and  I  needn't  then  have 
kept  a  King  Charles  spaniel. 

June  16th. — Fanchette  has  just  left  me  with 
my  head  in  the  dust.  She  is  my  French  maid 
— a  most  elegant  and  fashionable  creature  with 
a  French  figure,  a  rustling  silk  petticoat,  and  a 
high-pitched  shrill  voice. 

This  is  the  hour  of  leisure  which  I  have  de 
termined  to  snatch  from  the  "  rush  of  life." 
One  must  read  and  think  occasionally,  and  Li 
onel  asks  why.  Women  who  read  are  usually 
pedantic,  and  women  who  think  have  hysterics 
all  over  the  place.  Isn't  he  amusing? 

My  bedroom  faces  west  and  is  a  glory  of  gold 
hangings  and  paper  and  white  paint.  And  my 
boudoir  is  of  eastern  aspect  and  is  decorated 
in  a  green  of  the  coldest  Art  shade.  And  Fan 
chette  knowing  nothing  of  my  barbaric  affec 
tion  for  warm  colours  and  sunshine,  cannot  im 
agine  why  I  prefer  sitting  in  my  bedroom  at 
this  hour.  "  If  it  were  5  o'clock  in  the  morning 
I  would  sit  in  the  boudoir,"  I  say,  and  she 
shrugs  her  shoulders  at  the  incomprehensible- 
ness  of  Madame. 

50 


GWENDA 

To  be  alone  is  very  restful  after  the  hurry 
and  turmoil  of  the  day,  and  that  Fanchette 
should  have  broken  in  upon  me  just  now  has 
irked  me  not  a  little.  I  had  instructed  her  to 
put  out  my  wedding  gown  for  this  evening. 
We  are  going  to  a  dinner  given  in  our  honour 
by  old  friends  of  Lionel.  Up  to  now  I  have 
been  wearing  my  black  satin  and  green  span 
gled  net,  as  we  have  been  dining  at  restaurants 
or  quietly  at  home,  but  to-night  being  a  sort  of 
state  dinner  I  thought  the  occasion  was  worthy 
of  my  wedding  dress.  That  is  how  I  put  it  to 
myself  out  of  the  innocence  of  my  heart,  and 
didn't  you  think  it  lovely!  I  know  I  did.  But 
not  so  Fanchette.  She  came  to  me  with  it  held 
out  at  arm's  length  as  though  the  sight  of  it 
offended  her  vision,  and  demanded  if  that  was 
what  I  meant. 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied,  "  I  have  only  one 
wedding  dress." 

"  But  what  sort  of  a  gown  is  it  supposed  to 
be,  Madame?" 

"  Oh,  just  a  simple,  pretty,  white  one,"  I  re 
turned  ingratiatingly,  for  I  could  see  there  was 
trouble  ahead. 

"But  what  mode?" 

"  Why  Directoire,  of  course." 
51 


GWENDA 

"  Directoire?  "  (shrilly). 

"  Certainly." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  Madame !  With  a  waist  below, 
right  away  down  where  your  sto — mach  ought 
to  be?" 

"  My  waist  is  perhaps  peculiarly  situated," 
I  said  with  dignity. 

"  But,  no,  Madame,  your  figure  is  divine. 
But  the  waist  should  be  in  a  Directoire  gown 
just  below  your  arms." 

"  I  absolutely  refuse  to  have  my  waist  any 
where  but  in  its  proper  place."  I  picked  up  my 
book. 

"  But  I  mean  in  the  frock.  No  matter  where 
your  waist  really  is,  in  the  gown  it  should  be 
high  up." 

"Well,  isn't  it?"  I  said  trying  to  keep  pa 
tient. 

She  drew  out  the  bodice  inch  by  inch  as  one 
extends  an  accordion,  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 
"  Look  at  it,  so  long,  so  very  long.  Madame  re 
sembles  a — a  tadpole  in  it,  is  it  not?" 

"  Fanchette !  "  I  cried  indignantly. 

"Ah,  pardon,  dear  Madame.  One  thousand 
pardons.  I  meant  not  to  be  impertinent.  Ma 
dame  always  looks  beau-ti-ful.  But  what  is  to 
be  done?  Madame  cannot  wear  it  as  it  is,  it 

52 


GWENDA 

is  impossible.  If  I  could  be  permitted  to  alter 
it." 

"  Alter  it !  "  I  cried  joyfully,  gathering  it  up 
in  a  bundle  and  pushing  it  at  her,  "  do  what 
you  will  with  it,  anything  you  like,  Fanchette, 
so  long  as  you  make  it  right  and  leave  me  in 
peace.  Go  now  straightaway 

"  But  one  thing  more,"  she  interrupted  quick 
ly.  "  It  is  a  high  dress.  Surely  to-night,  Ma 
dame,  a  decollete  gown 

"  Ah !  "  Now  I  was  triumphant,  "  but  it  will 
turn  into  a  decollete  gown.  The  yoke  is  only 
tacked  on.  In  two  minutes  it  can  be  unpicked 
and  removed,  and,  hey  presto,  the  transforma 
tion  is  complete." 

Fanchette's  eyes  widened.  "  A  high  frock 
becomes  a  low  one !  "  Her  tone  of  horror  froze 
even  me.  "  Impossible.  Never,  Madame,  and 
I  have  dressed  many  ladies,  have  I  before  come 
across  such  a  thing  extraordinary.  A  high  and 
a  low  dress  in  one — one  combination.  Every 
body  would  know,  I  mean  the  ladies  would  rec 
ognise  it  if  you  wore  it  in  the  day  and  then 
again  in  the  evening.  The  very  thought  is — is 
horrible." 

Her  genuine  distress  touched  me.  And  had 
she  not  shown  some  restraint  and  delicacy  of 

53 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

feeling  in  not  alluding  to  the  fact  that  she  had 
only  been  accustomed  to  the  handling  and  hook 
ing  up  of  Worth  and  Paquin  frocks,  while  the 
gown  she  was  holding  had  been  fashioned  by  a 
small  dressmaker  in  Exeter? 

"  But  what  is  to  be  done ! "  I  enquired  help 
lessly.  I  have  only  the  green  spangled  net  and 
the  black  satin,  they  are  both  low,  always 
low " 

"  I  know,  Madame,"  she  interrupted  hastily, 
"  you  have  worn  them."  With  one  wave  of  her 
hand  she  dismissed  them  both,  and  a  great  de 
pression  settled  upon  me. 

I  glanced  at  the  timepiece.  "  Look  here, 
Fanchette,"  I  said,  "  it  is  now  6  o'clock.  Din 
ner  is  at  8,  it  is  impossible  to  get  a  new  gown 
made  in  a  couple  of  hours.  I  must  wear  the 
high  low  frock  which  isn't  Directoire,  and  in 
which  you  suggest,  not  too  politely,  that  I  re 
semble  a  tadpole.  It  cannot  be  helped.  Please 
go  and  wrestle  with  it.  To-morrow  I  will  order 
another."  And  Fanchette  went — a  hopeless 
despairing  figure,  yet  with  *  faithful  to  duty 
however  unpleasant '  written  on  every  line  of 
her  sallow  countenance. 

Perhaps  she  will  give  me  notice  to-morrow. 
I  am  hoping  for  the  best — not  that  I  dislike  her, 

54 


GWENDA 

for,  though  my  experience  is  limited,  I  can  see 
that  she  is  an  excellent  maid ;  but  I  realise  how 
ever  much  I  may  blossom  forth  in  the  future, 
however  modish  I  may  grow  to  be,  in  fine,  if  I 
became  one  of  the  queens  of  fashion  whose 
frocks  and  hats  and  chiffons  are  duly  chron 
icled  in  the  papers,  the  memory  of  my  green 
spangled  net  and  tadpole  wedding  gown  will 
never  fade  from  Fanchette's  mind.  She  will 
in  her  secret  heart  regard  me  as  a  poor  igno 
rant  thing — a  product  of  the  country — a  sort  of 
pumpkin — to  be  pitied  more  than  despised. 

You  must  not  imagine,  Granty  darling,  that 
such  a  matter  frets  me  one  little  atom.  I  know 
that  you  will  be  disappointed  that  my  trous 
seau  is  turning  out  to  be  not  smart,  but  I  am 
only  sorry  on  that  account.  Eemember  that 
Lionel  fell  in  love  with  me  in  spite  of  what  I 
know  now  was  my  extreme  dowdiness.  And, 
oh,  how  I  enjoyed  those  plain  gowns ;  and  they 
were  always  of  a  pretty  becoming  colour  be 
cause  whatever  you  and  I  may  lack  in  form,  I 
think  our  colour  sense  is  all  right,  don't  you? 
At  least  we  will  take  that  small  bit  of  comfort 
to  our  hearts.  And  we  had  great  fun  in  the 
choosing  of  these  derided  gowns,  hadn't  we? 
Fanchette  can  never  wrest  that  from  us.  The 

55 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

long  days  we  spent  in  Exeter,  bright  delicious 
Spring  days,  and  the  lovely  run  from  Silver- 
combe  along  the  Exe.  I  am  never  quite  sure  if 
I  liked  to  find  the  tide  in  or  out  as  we  sped 
along  in  the  train,  both  were  so  lovely.  Then 
the  trying  on  of  the  frocks ;  and  how  lovely  the 
green  spangled  net  looked  as  it  flashed  in  the 
sunlight,  and  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  it  isn't 
lovely  now.  Just  because  Fanchette  happens 
to  be  French,  it  doesn't  prove  she  is  right.  You 
and  I  may  be  as  right  as  she,  I  shall  try  to  sum 
mon  up  courage  to  tell  her  this  to-morrow. 

Then  the  dainty  lunches  at  Ealeigh's  Cafe, 
with  no  Hannah  at  our  elbows  making  us  *  use 
up '  things.  And,  later  on,  evensong  at  the 
Cathedral,  and  all  the  lovely  feelings  and  emo 
tions  that  come  to  you  in  the  dim  recesses  of  a 
Cathedral  when  a  boy's  voice  soars  to  Heaven, 
mounting  higher  and  higher  on  liquid  notes  of 
silver,  and  a  stray  gleam  of  sunlight  flashes 
through  the  glory  of  a  stained  window. 

Granty,  should  you  have  resented  it,  had  you 
known  that  all  my  thoughts  and  prayers  were 
for  Lionel  in  those  moments?  He  was  absent, 
therefore  I  prayed  for  him.  Now  he  is  with 
me.  I  can  feel  him,  touch  him,  love  him,  and 
you  are  absent — so  I  pray  for  you — just  the 

56 


GWENDA 

order  of  things  reversed.  You  seem  to  have  a 
certain  amount  of  hold  over  those  who  are  close 
to  you.  You  can  bind  them,  nurse  them,  tease 
them,  quarrel  with  them.  But  the  absent  ones 
— well  they  seem  so  very  absent  and  remote. 
You  receive  letters  from  them  telling  you  of 
their  doings,  but  you  don't  get  a  bit  of  them,  of 
their  real  selves,  the  inflection  of  their  voices, 
the  familiar  movement  of  their  hands,  the  little 
shake  of  their  walk,  the  lavender  scent  of  their 
presence,  the  feel  of  their  woolly  shawls. 

Do  you  go  to  my  little  old  bed  each  night,  I 
wonder,  and  say  "  One  to  watch.  Two  to  pray. 
Three  to  keep  all  harm  away?"  I  hope  you 
do,  because  I  am  often  there  in  spirit.  I  shall 
be  there  to-night,  though  at  the  time  I  shall 
be,  in  all  probability,  at  a  bridge  table  in  a  hot 
room  with  drooping  flowers  and  lovely  women 
in  still  more  lovely  gowns  and  jewels,  eager 
and  keen  on  their  game,  but  with  the  impassive 
well-bred  look  of  indifference  which  the  old 
players  can  assume.  And  at  11  o'clock,  though 
my  body  will  be  politely  responding  to  my  part 
ner's  call  for  a  rough,  my  spirit  will  steal  away 
out  of  the  room,  through  the  wide  star-lit  spaces 
to  a  cottage  at  Silvercom.be ;  and  you  must  not 
fail  me.  Good  night  Granty. 

57 


LETTER   IV 

PRINCE'S  GATE,  LONDON,  S.  W., 
June  19th. 

MY  DEAR  GRANTY  : 

I  am  lonely.  Why  didn't  I  marry  a  poor  man 
who  lived  in  a  villa  in  the  suburbs?  I  long  to 
have  a  dear  little  house  called  St.  Kilda,  and 
one  maid,  and  spend  my  evenings  alone  with 
my  husband.  As  it  is  I  scarcely  ever  see  him, 
and  you  have  always  said  that  half  the  unhap- 
piness  of  married  life  is  caused  by  husbands  and 
wives  seeing  too  much  of  each  other.  I  find 
such  a  lot  of  your  statements  are  wrong!  I, 
of  course,  see  him  in  a  sense,  but  always  with 
crowds  of  people  about.  I  am  so  tired  of  peo 
ple.  I  don't  mind  them — say,  once  a  day,  but  I 
don't  want  them  at  lunch  and  at  tea  and  at  din 
ner.  Breakfast  I  could  have  alone  with  Li 
onel,  but  he  makes  me  have  it  in  bed.  He  says 
I  shall  get  fagged  out  before  the  summer  is 
over;  and  as  we  don't  go  to  Scotland  till  Sep 
tember  I  mustn't  break  down  before  then. 
Isn't  it  an  extraordinary  way  of  living?  I  mean 

58 


GWENDA 

that  people  should  fear  a  breakdown  brought 
about  by  over-much  so-called  pleasure.  So  I 
have  my  breakfast  in  bed  and  read  the  Morn 
ing  Post  and  wade  through  our  invitations  and 
consult  my  engagement  book.  Do  you  remem 
ber  our  old  engagement  book?  You  always 
would  enter  into  it  the  dates  on  which  the  vari 
ous  hens  began  to  sit.  It  would  read  as  fol 
lows  :  "  Tuesday :  Tea  at  the  Eectory.  Wednes 
day:  Jane  Ellis  comes  to  fit  my  new  dress. 
Friday :  Yellow  Fluff  began  to  sit.  Saturday : 
Bandy  legs  hatched  10  chicks."  This  is  a  sam 
ple  of  my  engagement  book :  "  Wednesday :  Two 
fittings  at  Valerie  Soeurs.  Eichmond  Horse 
Show.  Dine  at  the  Eitz  with  the  Wilbrahams 
(the  man  I  invited  to  eat  a  cress  sandwich). 
Theatre.  Thursday :  Lunch  with  the  St.  Johns. 
Fete  Botanical  Gardens.  Dinner  at  the  Pel- 
hambys'.  Opera.  Friday:  Meet  of  the  Four- 
in-hand.  Luncheon  party  at  home.  At  Home 
at  Mrs.  Crossfield's.  Dine  with  the  Vavasours. 
Bridge.  Saturday:  Shop.  Lunch  with  friends 
at  Prince's.  Motor  to  Eanelagh — polo.  Din 
ner  party  at  home.  Bridge." 

That  is  to-night — the  dinner  party.  The  first 
we  have  given.  Up  to  now  cook  has  arranged 
the  few  dinners  that  we  have  been  in  to  eat. 

59 


GWENDA 

She  has  been  with  Lionel  for  years,  in  fact 
ever  since  his  mother  died  and  he  came  in  to 
everything.  But  this  morning  he  said  he 
thought  it  was  time  I  took  up  the  reins  of  man 
agement,  that  he  had  wanted  me  to  get  accus 
tomed  to  my  new  life  gradually,  but  the  ser 
vants  must  now  recognise  that  I  was  the 
mistress. 

If  only  he  had  given  me  longer  notice  I 
should  have  been  more  prepared,  could  have 
bought  a  book  and  planned  out  various  menus ; 
but  as  it  was,  he  had  hardly  finished  speaking 
when  a  knock  came  at  the  door  and  cook  like  a 
large  battle  ship  sailed  into  the  room. 

"  I  will  leave  you  now,"  said  my  husband 
cheerfully.  "  Bear  two  things  in  mind,  let  the 
dinner  be  short  and  the  dishes  really  good,  and 
original  if  possible,  originality  is  what  we  all 
aim  at.  Mrs.  St.  John  gives  the  best  dinners 
of  any  woman  in  Town.  I  want  you  to  come  a 
good  second,"  and  humming  a  little  tune  he 
took  his  departure. 

Oh,  how  I  longed  to  be  able  to  hum  too. 
Carelessly,  to  impress  cook,  I  tried  to  take  up 
the  refrain,  but  my  voice  cracked  on  the  first 
note,  and  she  regarded  me  with  mild  though 
respectful  surprise.  She  handed  me  a  book 

60 


GWENDA 

and  a  pencil.  It  appeared  that  the  various  din 
ners  that  had  been  given  had  been  entered  here 
so  that  there  should  be  no  repetition.  Unfor 
tunately  she  had  turned  over  to  a  blank  page 
and  I  dared  not  look  back.  Feverishly  I  racked 
my  brains  and  could  conjure  up  nothing  but 
oyster  soup,  boiled  mutton,  and  blackberry  tart, 
and  neither  oysters  nor  blackberries  were  in 
season.  Patiently  she  waited,  and  at  that  min 
ute,  Granty,  I  would  gladly  have  been  a  single 
woman.  Presently  I  think  it  began  to  dawn 
upon  her  that  I  was  a  hopeless  fool.  She  did 
not  hint  at  such  a  condition,  but  she  began  to 
be  kind.  People  are  always  kind  to  hopeless 
fools.  She  was  also  clever.  When  Potage  aux 
Pointes  d'Asperge  was  written  down,  it  ap 
peared  to  have  emanated  from  my  own  brain; 
and  so  on  all  through  the  salmon  and  ducklings 
and  truffles  and  ice  puddings  to  the  weary  end. 
She  suggested  everything  and  never  let  me 
know  it,  or  thought  she  didn't.  And  when  we 
had  finished,  she  respectfully  said :  "  I  think 
the  master  will  be  pleased  with  your  dinner, 
Madame,  if  you  will  kindly  excuse  my  saying 
so."  Did  she  take  me  for  a  bigger  fool  than  I 
looked? 

She  had  no  sooner  gone  than  there  was  an- 
61 


GWENDA 

other  knock,  and  Balbriggan  appeared.  He  ap 
peared  in  the  same  way  that  a  photograph 
appears  on  a  plate  when  washed  with  chem 
icals,  faintly,  slowly,  wraith-like.  There  is 
something  almost  uncanny  about  Balbriggan. 
This  time  it  was  the  table  decorations.  Now  I 
felt  more  at  home.  You  always  admired  the 
vases  on  our  dinner  table,  and  Sunset  gave  me 
such  a  profusion  of  flowers  that  I  knew  exactly 
how  to  blend  them.  Eagerly  in  my  mind  I  ran 
through  roses,  carnations,  sweet-peas,  and  7 
certainly  never  thought  of  Madonna  lilies  in 
tall  silver  vases — the  whole  scheme  white  and 
silver  without  a  touch  of  colour.  But  before  I 
knew  what  had  happened  Balbriggan  was  ad 
miring  the  suggestion.  It  would  be  quite  unique 
and  unusually  beautiful.  I  looked  at  him  crit 
ically,  sharply,  but  his  eyes  were  as  non-com 
mittal  as  his  person — a  sphinx  gazing  across  the 
arid  desert  of  my  stupidity  and  ignorance. 

When  he  had  faded  from  the  room,  I  sat 
down  and  burst  into  tears,  otherwise  I  should 
have  set  up  shrill  cat-calls  and  war  whoops 
which  might  have  brought  in  the  police.  After 
a  while  I  began  to  laugh,  and  at  this  moment 
Lionel  entered  the  room  in  riding  costume. 

He  was  evidently  pleased  at  my  seeming 
62 


good  spirits.  Nice  men  are  always  pleased 
when  their  women  folk  are  happy,  and  he  asked 
me  what  I  was  going  to  do.  Everybody  in 
Town  asks  you  as  soon  as  they  meet  you  what 
you  are  going  to  do,  because  they  never  stop 
"  doing  things,"  and  if  you  replied  you  were 
going  into  Kensington  Gardens  to  sit  in  the 
sun  and  read  Browning,  they  would  cry,  "  Oh, 
you  are  one  of  those  dear  eccentric  people  who 
do  such  delightfully  odd  things.  You  are  de 
licious  and  amusing."  They  never  dream  of 
sitting  down  excepting  at  meals  till  they  begin 
their  "  rest  cure." 

"  What  am  I  going  to  do  ?  "  I  replied,  surrep 
titiously  wiping  away  my  tears.  It  would 
never  do  to  tell  him  I  had  nothing  "  on,"  be 
cause  it  would  distress  him,  and  spoil  his  ride. 
So  I  replied  I  was  going  shopping  and  had 
heaps  of  things  to  get  through,  which  was  true 
in  a  sense  because  I  intended  studying  cookery 
books.  And  he  was  quite  satisfied  and  kissed 
me,  and  said  he  was  making  arrangements 
for  my  taking  riding  lessons  and  then  we 
would  have  some  good  times  together  in  the 
Park. 

Some  good  times  together!  My  spirits  rose 
with  a  bound,  the  very  thought  of  cantering 

63 


along  on  a  fine  horse  brought  the  blood  with  a 
rush  to  my  cheeks. 

"  How  lovely !  "  I  sighed,  "  and  do  you  think 
I  shall  soon  learn!  " 

"  Of  course  you  will.  You  are  cut  out  for  a 
horsewoman.  Look  at  the  figure  you've  got. 
You'll  look  fine  on  a  good  mount,"  he  replied. 

"And  sometimes  we'll  ride  in  the  country, 
Lionel?" 

"Well,  we  might,  only  I  prefer  the  Park. 
You  meet  all  your  friends  there,  and — you'll 
be  worth  looking  at." 

For  a  moment  I  turned  to  the  window  to  hide 
my  face.  "Was  I  pleased  with  his  pretty  com 
pliment?  Honestly,  no.  A  thousand  times 
should  I  have  preferred  his  saying  he  would 
enjoy  long  days  in  the  country  alone  with  me, 
dismounting  for  lunch  at  some  wayside  inn, 
again  for  tea,  and  home  in  the  evening  through 
cool,  sweet-scented  leafy  lanes.  Just  the  two 
of  us  with  intimate  talks  and  still  more  inti 
mate  silences.  No  people,  no  crowds.  Invol 
untarily  I  turned  and  asked :  "  You  still  love 
me,  Lionel?"  And  then  at  his  look  of  sur 
prise,  a  smile  came  to  my  lips.  "  You  see  I 
am  like  Wendy  in  'Peter  Pan.'  I  like  to  be 
told  I  am  loved,  why — quite  once  a  day.  We 

64 


GWENDA 

women  are  built  that  way.  Perhaps  it  is  fool 
ish  of  us." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  he  returned,  "  because  you 
see  we  men  marry  you.  What  more  can  you 
want? " 

I  pictured  your  face,  Granty,  as  he  said 
this.  Men  are  so  ingenuous,  and  I  think  that 
is  why  we  love  them  so.  They  are  so  much 
simpler  and  more  honest  than  we.  We  rarely 
say  what  we  think  and  men  so  rarely  think 
what  they  say,  or  they  wouldn't  hurt  us  so 
often.  And  he  looked  so  in  earnest  and  so 
handsome  that  I  could  only  laugh. 

"  And  you  think  when  a  man  has  married  a 
woman  he  always  goes  on  loving  her? "  I 
queried. 

"  I  don't  say  that,"  he  replied,  smoothing  his 
well-brushed  hair  in  front  of  a  mirror,  "  it  de 
pends  on  the  woman." 

"  And  never  on  the  man?  " 

"  Not  so  much.  A  man  always  goes  on  pretty 
much  the  way  he  starts,  but  a  woman  frequent 
ly  goes  all  to  pieces.  Gets  bad  tempered,  and 
jealous  and  loses  her  looks.  I  don't  think  you'll 
become  bad  tempered,  you  are  too  sensible." 

"  But  I  may  lose  my  looks  1 " 

"Not  just  yet,"  he  answered  me  gravely. 
65 


GWENDA 

"  You're  the  kind  that  wears  well.  Good  com 
plexion  and  hair  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
And  now  I  must  be  off.  I  shall  be  in  to  lunch. 
Hurlingham  this  afternoon  remember.  Good 
bye,  dear,"  and  he  went  away  humming  a  tune. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  ever  shall  get  bad  tempered," 
I  mused  later  as  I  drove  through  the  crowded 
streets,  and  then,  as  though  in  direct  answer 
to  my  question,  I  found  myself  slapping  Shan 
dy  who  was  unusually  cross. 

I  must  stop  all  this  chit-chat.  Does  it  bore 
you?  But  it's  your  own  fault  if  it  does.  You 
encouraged  me  to  let  myself  "  go,"  and  all  the 
time  I  am  hoping  it  may  interest  you.  Fan- 
chette  says  it  is  time  I  allowed  myself  to  be 
dressed.  Lionel  had  sent  me  in  some  Dorothy 
Perkins  roses.  Now  for  the  fray.  Wish  me 
good  luck. 

June  20th. — The  dinner  was  a  great  success. 
I  wore  a  new  frock  and  have  joined  the  cater 
pillar  brigade.  Lionel  says  it  looked  moulded 
to  my  figure.  He  meant  it  as  a  compliment, 
but  I  am  not  sure  I  wanted  it  to  look  like  that. 
However,  if  he  is  pleased!  He  also  compli 
mented  me  on  the  menu. 

"  Cook  chose  it  all,"  I  said  bluntly. 
66 


GWENDA 

"  How  was  that?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  boiled  mutton 
and  blackberry  tart." 

"  Surely  you  meant  saddle  of  mutton  ?  " 

"  I  meant  boiled  neck  of  mutton  and  caper 
sauce,"  I  repeated  obstinately. 

He  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  instantly  I  was 
sorry  for  my  crossness. 

"  Look  here,  Lionel,"  I  said  gently.  "  You 
married  me  from  a  simple  home.  We  had  a 
three  course  dinner  every  day  of  our  lives  at 
1  o'clock.  Granty  never  gave  a  dinner  party. 
But  I  am  not  stupid,  only  ignorant.  There  is 
a  great  difference  between  the  two.  I  have 
bought  two  cookery  books,  and  one  contains  100 
recherche  dinners.  I  promise  you  within  a 
week  I  will  make  cook  '  sit  up.'  And  at  the 
next  dinner  we  give  my  menu  will  be  worthy  of 
an  ancient  Phoenician  feast." 

Lionel  said  he  didn't  know  what  I  meant, 
and  I  told  him  that  though  I  shouldn't  be  able 
to  obtain  peacocks'  eyes  and  humming-birds' 
tongues,  I  would  present  unto  him  other,  and 
equally  rare,  delicacies  if  he  would  have  faith 
in  me. 

But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  our  guests 
and  have  wandered  off  to  these  devious  by- 

G7 


GWENDA 

paths.     Some  of  them  were  pleasant,  most  of 
them  dull,  and  one  or  two  amusing. 

The  guests  of  the  evening  were  a  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Prendergast.  I  think  Mrs.  Prendergast 
is  one  of  the  most  attractive  women  I  have 
ever  met.  Not  exactly  pretty,  but  nice  looking, 
amusing,  vivacious,  and  possessing  that  inde 
finable  quality — charm.  Her  voice,  too,  is 
charming,  aloof  yet  tender,  bantering  yet  ear- 
nest,  and  low  in  tone,  which  to  me  is  such  an 
attraction  in  women,  who  mostly  seem  to  shout. 

I  couldn't  remove  my  eyes  from  her  at  first, 
and  twice  said  "  No  "  to  Mr.  Prendergast  when 
I  ought  to  have  said  "  Yes,"  and  he  only  for 
gave  me  when  he  found  that  his  wife  was  the 
object  of  my  interest. 

"  She  is  quite  as  nice  as  she  looks,"  he  said 
frankly,  his  own  rather  hard  business  face 
softening.  "  A  stunning  woman  and — "  he  drew 
himself  up  sharply  as  though  fearing  his  con 
fidence  might  be  misplaced. 

"  Go  on,"  I  said.  "  I'm  awfully  interested. 
I  like  her  looks  so  much  that  I  hope  we  shall 
be  friends." 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  he  said  heartily. 
"  We've  known  Lionel  since  he  was  a  boy,  or 
I  should  say  I  have." 

68 


GWENDA 

"  Have  you?  "  I  endeavoured  to  keep  the  in 
terest  out  of  my  voice.  "  Now  I  really  don't 
know  which  I  want  to  hear  about  most — your 
wife,  or  my  husband  when  he  was  in  knicker 
bockers." 

"  Your  husband,  of  course,"  he  said  with  a 
smile,  "  but  really  I  don't  know  that  I  remem 
ber  anything  very  exciting  about  him.  Let  me 
see — yes,  he  had  measles  when  he  was  about 
twelve,  I  recollect  that." 

"  Most  children  have." 

"  Now,  don't  be  ironic  and  interrupt  my  train 
of  thought."  His  pleasant  laughter  sounded 
through  the  room.  "  I  expect  he  had  measles 
in  a  most  masterly  way,  because  Lionel  is  pret 
ty  thorough  in  whatever  he  does.  He  and  I 
were  at  Eton  together,  and,  you'll  forgive  my 
mentioning  it,  but  he  bullied  me  a  bit,  he  was 
always  big  and  I  was  small." 

"No?"  I  said. 

"  But  he  did,  and  most  women  like  a  bully  in 
a  mild  way.  I  don't  say  his  bullying  arose 
from  anything  but  an  excess  of  muscular  en 
ergy  and  overflowing  vitality,  but  there  it 
was.  Have  you  ever  noticed  the  extraordinary 
strength  of  his  fingers  Mrs.  Conyngham?  He 
has  a  grip  like  a  vice." 

69 


"  I  don't  know  that  I  have,"  I  returned,  and 
for  some  unaccountable  reason  I  now  wished  he 
would  leave  Lionel  and  talk  of  his  wife. 

"  Cambridge  found  us  together  again,  Trin 
ity  College.  He  worked  hard  in  spite  of  being 
a  rich  man.  He  never  went  in  much  for  ath 
letics,  all  his  spare  time  was  devoted  to  read 
ing  books  that  made  your  hair  stand  on  end. 
You  know  the  sort:  Poe,  Gaboriau.  He  read 
The  Murder  of  the  Rue  Morgue  aloud  to  me,  I 
recollect,  and  I  never  saw  or  heard  anything 
more  realistically  done.  He  mouthed  like  a 
baboon,  and  imitated  the  shrieks  of  the  women 
till  I  was  all  of  a  blue  funk  and  cold  shivers 
running  up  and  down  my  spine.  I  always 
thought  he  would  be  an  actor,  never  dreamt  for 
one  moment  that  he  would  develop  into  a  thor 
ough  society  man,  and  a  devoted  husband  into 
the  bargain."  He  turned  and  smiled  at  me  as 
he  finished,  "  Have  you  had  enough!  " 

"  Thank  you,  quite,"  I  replied,  and  it  struck 
me  that  my  voice  sounded  odd.  "  Tell  me  some 
thing  of  your  wife  now."  And  I  was  relieved 
when  he  launched  forth,  and  in  simple  language 
told  me  where  he  had  met  her,  and  what  he 
thought  of  her,  and  what  all  his  friends  said 
of  her;  and  then  I  gradually  drew  him  on  to 

70 


talk  of  my  guests,  and  while  he  talked  I  looked 
down  the  length  of  the  table  at  my  husband. 
What  had  Mr.  Prendergast  said — that  he  had 
been  a  bully?  But  that  was  nothing.  All  boys, 
healthy  boys,  were  bullies.  And  Lionel  was  of 
a  masterful  temperament,  a  strong  man  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  Searchingly  I  stared 
at  him,  and  suddenly  he  raised  his  head,  and 
his  eyes  met  mine  and  for  a  moment  I  held 
them.  Then  he  smiled,  a  friendly  nice  smile, 
and,  as  in  a  flash,  all  was  well  with  me.  What 
had  I  been  worrying  about?  What  an  idiot  I 
was.  Granty,  I  don't  think  London  suits  me. 
I  am  getting  imaginative. 

Now,  I  brought  back  my  wandering  attention 
to  Mr.  Prendergast.  He  was  rallying  me  for 
not  listening  to  him. 

"  But  I  was,"  I  fibbed. 

"  You  were  smiling  at  your  husband." 

"  And  you  have  twice  smiled  at  your  wife,"  I 
retorted. 

He  admitted  the  impeachment,  and  said  if  I 
would  listen  he  would  tell  me  about  the  woman 
who  sat  on  my  husband's  left.  She  was  one  of 
the  best  bridge  players  in  Town,  and  was 
equally  good  at  golf.  If  I  would  notice,  every 
thing  on  the  table  was  a  potential  game  to  her : 

71 


She  formed  balls  out  of  bread  pellets,  spoons 
and  forks  became  hazards,  and  salt  cellars 
made  good  pot  bunkers.  Well  dressed,  well 
preserved,  she  was  always  in  a  rush,  a  perfect 
rag,  but  never  looked  it.  Everybody  liked  her 
and  she  in  return  liked  everybody  but  her  own 
husband  who  would  "  have  hobbies."  That  was 
the  way  she  put  it.  His  hobby  at  the  moment 
was  earthworms — "nasty  slimy  things."  Fol 
lowing  Darwin's  precedent,  he  cemented  the 
floor  of  a  square  of  ground,  placed  cemented 
walls  around  it,  filled  it  in  with  soil,  turned  some 
worms  into  this,  and  then  enjoyed  his  investi 
gations.  Mr.  Prendergast  wasn't  quite  sure 
how  frequently  the  entire  earth,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  deserts,  passed  through  the  bodies  of 
worms,  but  Mr.  Ouless,  he  was  sure,  would  in 
form  us. 

"  Don't,"  I  commanded  laughing,  "  I  don't 
want  to  know.  He  looks  a  bore." 

The  stout  man  next  to  Mrs.  Ouless  was  brim 
ming  over  with  ancient  stories.  Most  of  them 
were  about  eggs.  There  was  the  curate's  egg, 
and  the  lady  who  sat  next  to  a  bishop,  drop 
ping  an  egg  under  the  table,  and  being  told  by 
him  to  cackle.  To-night  he  had  a  new  one  of 
a  tired  cock,  who,  leaning  against  a  barn  door 

72 


GWENDA 

sighed  "  What  a  weary  world.  It's  eggs  to-day, 
and  feather  brushes  to-morrow,"  and  he  laughed 
himself  so  much  over  his  story  that  the  man 
with  a  hobby,  who  knew  him  well,  requested 
him  to  hush,  quite  crossly. 

The  lady  of  dignified  mien,  with  pale  watery 
eyes  and  Eoman  nose  was  the  aunt  of  a  bish 
op,  and  was  famous  for  having  crossed  a  desert 
on  a  camel  with  one  attendant,  "  And  looks  as 
though  the  dust  had  got  into  her  eyes,"  said 
Mr.  Prendergast  thoughtfully. 

The  fair-haired  boyish-looking  man  was  quite 
a  famous  K.C.,  and  had  taken  silk  at  a  younger 
age  than  any  other  man  at  the  Bar.  The  pretty 
girl  opposite  to  him  was  his  daughter,  noted 
for  nothing  but  her  good  dancing.  And  the 
thin  bronzed  man  at  our  end  of  the  table  was 
a  rice  merchant  from  Eangoon  who  came  home 
for  six  months  every  second  year  to  get  up  suf 
ficient  strength  to  go  back.  A  man  with  a  far 
away  look,  a  kind  smile,  and  no  appetite. 

And  now  that  Mr.  Prendergast's  recital  had 
brought  him  up  to  the  guests  in  our  proximity, 
he  had  to  lower  his  voice.  The  beaming  man  to 
my  left  who  said  "Eh,  what?"  was  a  father 
first,  as  anyone  could  see,  and  a  ratepayer  next. 
"  And  the  lady  to  my  left  I  know  little  about  at 

73 


GWENDA 

present,  though  I  hope  to  know  more,  but  I  can 
say  she  is  a  good  listener,"  he  concluded  laugh 
ing.  And  you  always  said,  Granty,  that  I  could 
only  talk.  It  isn't  that  I  want  to  be  silent  now, 
but  all  these  people  are  strange  to  me,  and 
theirs  is  a  jargon  I  cannot  understand,  and  half 
of  it  is  slang  I  never  heard  before.  I  am  not 
superior.  Don't  think  it's  that.  But  I  am  ig 
norant,  and  I'm  afraid  a  little  provincial. 

Ever  yours, 

GWENDA. 


LETTER   V 

PRINCE'S  GATE,  LONDON,  June  23rd. 

MY  DEAR  GEANTY  : 

The  longest  day  has  come  and  gone,  and  I 
persuaded — or  sweedled,  as  the  people  say  here 
— Lionel  to  motor  me  down  into  the  country, 
for  the  longest  day  in  the  country,  when  the 
weather  is  fine,  is  a  thing  not  to  be  missed. 

And  the  weather  was  fine  at  first,  not  too  hot 
nor  too  cold,  with  a  delicious  little  westerly 
breeze;  and  we  spun  along  the  smooth  red 
roads  to  Shere.  Eed  sandstone  roads  are  so 
much  prettier  than  chalk  or  lime.  And  there 
had  been  rain  the  night  before,  just  enough  to 
wash  the  hedges  and  trees  and  flowers,  reviv 
ing  their  delicate  beauty,  and  making  £hem 
smell  sweet  and  fresh.  Is  there  anything  love 
lier  than  an  English  lane  with  rain-washed 
banks,  and  peeps  over  the  hedges  and  gates  of 
blue  distances — hills  and  downs  and  valleys? 
It  is  our  atmosphere  that  lends  such  delicate 
mystical  loveliness  to  the  landscape,  and  at- 

75 


GWENDA 

mosphere  is  the  outcome  of  rain.  Where  there 
is  no  rain  there  is  no  atmosphere,  only  gar 
ish  crude  colours.  I  mentioned  this  to  Lionel, 
and  he  remarked  that  the  way  I  hit  upon  and 
"  discovered  "  well-known  facts  was  delightful. 
And  I  was  in  no  mood  to  take  offence.  Half 
the  delight  of  life,  I  think,  is  in  finding  out 
things  for  yourself,  don't  you? 

When  I'm  an  old,  old  lady  I  shall  live  at 
Shere  if  I  don't  live  at  Silvercombe,  because 
when  you're  old  it  is  good  for  your  soul  that 
there  should  be  no  distraction  beyond  the  pleas 
ure  of  a  little  river  babbling  right  through  the 
midst  of  your  village,  a  little  river  laughing  and 
singing  in  the  sunshine.  And  when  you  are 
old  and  the  sap  drying  up  in  your  bones,  the 
pine  trees,  with  the  sound  of  the  wind  in  their 
branches,  and  the  great  stretches  of  heather 
country  are  good  for  your  body,  because  do  not 
pines  and  heather  mean  invigorating  tonicy 
air?  And  I  shall  live  in  a  lovely  old-world  cot 
tage,  and  jasmine  and  roses  will  peep  in  at  the 
windows.  Balbriggan  will  not  be  there,  neither 
will  Mrs.  Perkins,  the  cook.  And  Lionel  will 
do  a  bit  of  gardening,  just  a  little  raking  per 
haps,  because  he  will  also  be  old,  and  raking 
requires  so  little  strength.  There  may  be 

T6 


GWENDA 

daughters  and  sons  too,  but  that  is  in  the  hands 
of  the  gods. 

I  voiced  my  musings  as  we  sat  in  the  pretty 
garden  of  the  old  fashioned  inn  at  which  we 
had  lunched.  Stirring  my  coffee  and  sniffing  at 
a  big  crimson  rose  which  dangled  above  my 
head  I  said  "  Won't  it  be  nice,  Lionel?  I  with 
a  lavender  bow  in  my  cap,  and  you  in  a  holland 
coat  gardening? " 

And  he  said  he  hated  gardening  above  all 
things,  that  he  should  never  bury  himself  in  the 
country.  That  the  older  you  got  the  more  you 
wanted  people  and  noise  and  towns.  Silence 
brought  retrospection  and  introspection,  the 
two  worst  maladies  from  which  any  human 
being  could  suffer,  and  the  antidote  to  which 
was  a  blue  pill  and  a  night  at  a  music  hall. 
Then  he  startled  me  by  suddenly  seizing  me 
and  framing  my  face  in  his  hands  and  crying: 
"  But  you'll  never  grow  old.  I  hate  to  think  of 
it,  to  contemplate  it  even.  I  don't  like  old 
women.  They  mouth  their  words  and  are  fee 
ble  and  ugly.  You  must  always  remain  young, 
always  be  my  beautiful  Grwenda.  The  very 
thought  of  old  age  and  death  and  corruption 
on  a  day  like  this  are  nauseating.  Don't  talk  of 
it.  Don't  speak  of  it." 

77 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

Releasing  me  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
garden  with  long  angry  strides,  flicking  at  the 
weeds  with  his  stick,  and  muttering  to  himself. 
And  I  sat  mute  with  surprise  staring  at  him. 

Presently  he  paused  in  front  of  me.  "  Don't 
you  see  that  I  love  your  body?  How  I  gloried 
in  watching  you  bathe  at  Cancale.  Your  flesh 
is  so  firm  and  white.  You  were  like  a  mermaid 
glancing  through  the  water.  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  that  body  feeble  and  shrivelled.  Can't 
you  understand  that  it  hurts  me  physically  ? " 

"  But  don't  you  love  my  soul  a  little  bit  too  f  " 
I  cried,  "  Oh,  my  husband,  a  woman  always 
loves  to  be  loved  for  her  soul  best  of  all.  And 
that  never  grows  old  to  the  man  she  loves  and 
who  loves  her.  I  have  a  soul  tucked  away  some 
where  if  you  only  knew  it,  and  I  am  ready  to 
take  it  out,  poor  thing  that  it  is,  and  show  it  to 
you  if  you  will.  In  all  the  mad  whirl  of  gaiety, 
in  the  endless  succession  of  dinners  and  thea 
tres  and  bridge,  it  is  becoming  dwarfed  and  sti 
fled,  longing  for  a  wider  atmosphere  and  for  a 
congenial  spirit  with  which  to  dally.  Won't 
you  be  that  spirit  1 "  Smilingly,  I  placed  my 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  "  You  with  your  rake, 
I  with  my  lavender  bow.  A  few  months  back, 
when  we  stood  on  the  cliffs  at  Silvercombe,  it 

78 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

was  April  and  a  lark  was  soaring  and  singing 
in  the  blue,  and  again  at  Cancale  when  we 
watched  the  sun  set  over  the  sea,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  our  souls  just  frayed  the  edge  of  each 
other's  garments,  and  I  was  infinitely  happy. 
For  a  soul,  after  all,  when  you  come  to  think  of 
it,  is  often  very  lonely.  Who  ever  enters  into 
our  secret  places,  knows  us  as  we  really  are? 
We  come  into  being  alone,  we  pass  into  the 
shadows  alone;  and  if  during  our  short  pil 
grimage  on  earth  we  get  into  touch,  if  only 
for  a  little  while  with  another  spirit  that  is 
lonely,  why  we  are  each  the  happier." 

My  hands  slipped  to  my  side,  for  Lionel's 
eyes  were  averted,  and  his  forehead  puckered 
with  perplexity.  He  didn't  understand  what  I 
was  driving  at,  he  said,  and  he  was  sure  no 
man  would  unless  he  were  a  clairvoyant  who 
was  thoroughly  up  in  spirits  and  spooks  and 
all  that  kind  of  bosh.  "  You  used  not  to  be 
mystical  and  emotional,"  he  said  reproachfully. 

"  And  I  am  not  now,"  I  protested.  "  Is  it 
mystical  and  emotional,  to  desire  a  companion 
for  your  mind  as  well  as  for  your  body?  " 

"  And  you  used  to  be  such  a  jolly  sort  of  girl, 
with  a  laugh  that  made  other  people  laugh,"  he 
continued  ignoring  my  interruption. 

79 


GWENDA 

"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  so  much  to  laugh 
at  now."  The  words  were  out  before  I  realised 
what  I  was  saying,  and  instantly  sorry  I  took 
them  back. 

"  I  don't  like  this  sort  of  talk.  As  soon  as  a 
woman  becomes  analytical  she  goes  all  to  pot." 
He  struck  at  a  tall  lupin.  "  I  am  sure  you  have 
got  everything  a  girl  could  possibly  want,  and 
you  hadn't  very  much  down  at  Silvercombe.  I 
have  spent  the  last  six  months  in  trying  to  think 
of  the  things  that  would  give  you  pleasure.  I 
had  the  paper  in  your  boudoir  specially  made, 
and  you  never  sit  in  the  room.  The  same  with 
your  necklace,  you  never  wear  it  because  you 
don't  like  showy  things.  I  went  to  Brittany  to 
please  you,  though  it  was  the  dullest  hole  I  ever 
struck.  And  I  never  stop  considering  what  you 
would  like  to  do  next,  and  then  you  go  and  talk 
like  this." 

Full  of  contrition  for  having  hurt  him,  and 
grieved  that  he  should  so  misunderstand  me,  I 
again  put  my  arms  around  his  neck.  "  I  know," 
I  said,  "  and  I'm  sorry  if  you  think  I  am  not 
grateful.  I  do  appreciate  all  that  you  have 
given  me,  very  very  much.  I  only  meant  .  .  . 
but  I  can't  explain,  it  is  difficult.  The  intimate 
homely  things  of  life,  the  things  that  cost  little 

80 


GWENDA 

or  nothing,  yet  are  priceless,  come  to  me  first, 
mean  the  most  to  me.  Books,  poetry,  sunlight 
on  wide  meadows,  wind  in  a  field  of  rye,  a 
crackling  log  fire  on  a  wild  winter's  night,  sto 
ries  of  heroism  and  sacrifice,  the  laughter  of 
little  children,  the  love  of  one  human  being  for 
another,  all  come  to  me  before  anything  money 
can  buy.  I  am  not  emotional  or  sentimental, 
but  Granty  and  I  have  learned  to  love  all  these 
things — perhaps  because  we  had  nothing  else 
to  love — and  this  new  life  is  a  little  strange, 
and  I  am  just  the  least  bit  lonely,  because  there 
are  so  many  people  ..."  Again,  I  laughed. 
"  You  won't  understand  this  because  you  are 
used  to  them.  I  am  not  lonely  when  I  am 
amongst  the  pine  trees  at  home.  I  recognise  all 
that  they  and  the  wind  may  be  whispering,  but 
you  would  be  lonely.  You  are  accustomed  to 
being  surrounded  by  your  fellow  creatures. 
You  enjoy  their  society,  their  friendship ;  and  I 
am  going  to  learn  to  enjoy  what  you  enjoy. 
Why,  my  husband,  I  have  an  enormous  fund  of 
happiness  and  good  spirits  to  draw  upon. 
Never  again  think  I  am  not  contented  and  hap 
py  because — "  In  a  flash,  I  realised  that  I  was 
going  to  tell  a  lie,  but  I  went  straight  on.  It 
was  one  of  the  necessary  lies  of  this  life,  for 

81 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

Lionel  was  still  frowning  and  perplexed — "  I 
am  happy  and  contented.  And  now  kiss  and  be 
friends.  And  don't  you  think  we  ought  to  be 
going,  for  a  cloud  certainly  no  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand  has  appeared  in  the  west,  and  the 
wind  is  coming  from  there.  Though  I  may  not 
be  accomplished,  I  know  more  about  the  weather 
than  most  girls.  Come." 

And  the  cloud  gathered  to  an  ominous  size 
before  we  had  got  many  miles  on  our  home 
ward  journey,  and  the  wind  rose,  and  soon  we 
were  in  the  teeth  of  a  storm ;  and  before  Lionel 
could  get  the  cover  up  we  were  almost  drenched 
to  the  skin,  and  my  hat  was  almost  blown  from 
my  head  and  long  strands  of  my  hair  escaped 
and  lashed  me  across  the  face,  but  somehow  I 
enjoyed  it  with  a  wild  sort  of  exhilaration.  We 
were  at  the  mercy  of  the  elements.  The  trees 
bowed  down  before  the  fury  of  the  gale,  little 
flowers  laid  their  velvety  faces  to  the  wet  earth, 
the  big  drops  stung  our  faces. 

"  Leave  the  cover  up,"  I  shouted.  "  It  is 
glorious." 

For  a  moment  Lionel  regarded  me  as  one  re 
gards  a  person  who  is  deranged,  and  then  raised 
the  cover  with  a  snap.  And  I  only  laughed  and 
hugged  his  arm. 

82 


GWENDA 

June  30th. — A  good  deal  I  have  written  just 
lately,  I  am  doubtful  about  sending  you,  Granty. 
Firstly  because  it  has  been  about  Lionel  and 
myself,  intimate  talk.  I  have  always  told  you 
everything,  and  it  has  been  a  relief  to  me  to 
write,  just  as  you  predicted.  Why  should  the 
mere  fact  of  inscribing  your  sensations  in  black 
and  white  bring  you  relief?  Have  you  ever 
noticed  though  that  this  is  a  fact?  You  sit 
down  to  describe  the  death  of  a  much  loved 
friend.  The  writing  paper,  pen  and  ink  have 
been  approached  with  diffidence  and  halting 
steps.  Your  sorrow  is  so  great  that  you  cannot 
bear  to  speak  of  it.  But  within  five  minutes 
you  are  so  touched  and  wrung  by  the  beauty  of 
your  own  language,  that  your  tears  are  flowing 
easily  and  almost  happily,  and  you  are  even 
deriving  a  certain  amount  of  satisfaction  from 
your  own  pain.  But  I  fancy  you  have  said  all 
this  yourself.  How  often  you  must  be  amused 
at  my  echoing  your  sentiments ! 

Certainly  a  trouble  and  misunderstanding 
lose  half  their  sting  if  faced  practically  and 
with  an  earnest  desire  to  remove  the  cause  of 
the  misunderstanding. 

The  other  day  I  imagined  my  soul  was  lonely. 
I  began  to  pity  myself.  I  was  hurt  because 

83 


GWENDA 

Lionel  didn't  exhibit  a  keen  desire  to  sit  and 
hold  my  hand  half  the  day.  I  resented  the 
presence  of  so  many  people.  I  was  ashamed  of 
my  ignorance.  My  pride  was  always  up  in 
arms.  I  was  unhappy  and  longed  to  be  back  in 
Silvercombe.  Then  came  your  wise  practical 
letter.  Had  you  sensed  the  trouble  ?  Suddenly 
I  saw  that  if  I  had  a  soul  at  all,  it  was  a  poor 
sort  of  thing  and  nothing  to  boast  about.  Then 
came  the  sickening  realisation  that  I  was  self 
ish  and  unreasonable.  I  knew  when  I  married 
Lionel  that  he  was  rich  and  had  many  friends. 
I  said  I  was  prepared  to  dance  to  his  piping, 
and  the  minute  he  calls  upon  me  to  do  so,  I  be 
gin  to  howl.  I  want  slapping.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  from  this  moment  to  enjoy  my  life. 
There  is  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't.  I  have 
everything  money  can  buy.  Surely  this  ought 
to  satisfy  any  girl.  But,  oh,  Granty,  I  wish  you 
were  just  round  the  corner.  I  do  so  want  you. 

Lovingly, 

GWENDA. 


84 


LETTER   VI 

PRINCE'S  GATE,  LONDON,  S.  W., 
July  4th. 

MY  DEAR  GrKANTY : 

I  don't  think  I  can  keep  Fanchette.  Her  re 
spect  increased  for  me  100  per  cent  on  the  day 
that  she  discovered  I  had  ordered  twelve  new 
dresses  and  one  bang  go,  and  all  of  the  newest 
materials  and  up-to-date  designs,  but  she  never 
lets  me  alone  about  my  hair.  She  condescends 
to  approve  of  the  colour,  but  the  way  I  dress 
it  is  demode  and  dowdy.  She  wants  me  to  wear 
pin  curls  on  my  temples  that  have  grown  on 
another  woman's.  "  Ducks "  she  calls  them, 
"  so  sweet  and  so  inexpenseev — only  7/6  each." 
Then  she  wishes  to  fasten  Empire  bunches  of 
curls  at  the  back  of  my  head.  My  own  hair  is 
too  long  to  roll  into  satisfactory  curls,  and  the 
bought  ones  are  so  chic  and  will  fill  up  the 
hiatus  under  my  hats! 

"  But  I  have  no  hiatus,"  I  objected.  And  she 
said  I  would  have  if  only  I  would  wear  fash 
ionable  hats.  And  I  replied  it  was  no  good  dis- 

85 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

cussing  what  I  would  have,  if  I  hadn't  got  it. 
And  I  didn't  see  the  fun  of  achieving  a  gap  be 
neath  my  hats  just  to  fill  it  up  again  with  Em 
pire  curls.  And  she  sighed  and  called  upon 
Heaven  to  witness  she  was  doing  her  best. 

So  if  you  know  of  a  girl  in  the  village  who 
would  do  as  a  maid,  let  me  know.  The  more 
ignorant  she  is  the  better  I  shall  like  her,  for 
I  may  then  be  allowed  to  have  my  own  way 
occasionally.  And  if  her  name  should  be  Mar 
tha,  so  much  the  better.  I  keep  getting  Fan- 
chette  mixed  up  with  Planchette,  and  then  she's 
offended.  Martha  only  rhymes  with  Arthur, 
and  I  shouldn't  be  likely  to  call  her  that,  how 
ever  wandering  I  might  be.  I  remember  there 
was  a  Martha  at  Silvercombe  with  blue  eyes 
and  smooth  brown  hair,  daughter  of  a  fisher 
man.  Fanchette  has  snappy  black  eyes,  and 
her  hair  is  a  veritable  tower  of  curls  and  twists. 

Cook,  or  Mrs.  Perkins  as  I  find  she  likes  to 
be  called,  has  been  relegated  to  her  proper  po 
sition.  The  fear  of  me  lies  in  her  heart,  if  the 
love  of  me  doesn't.  It  took  a  week  to  achieve 
this,  a  week  of  hard  work  studying  cookery 
books  and  200  recherche  dinners. 

At  first  she  took  high  ground  with  me,  then 
became  soothing  as  one  dealing  with  a  refrac- 

86 


GWENDA 

tory  child,  and  finally  took  up  the  position  that 
things  were  out  of  season.  With  calm  effront 
ery  she  endeavoured  to  make  me  believe  that 
I  couldn't  get  salmon  trout  at  the  end  of  June 
for  love  or  money.  But  I  was  very  patient  and 
very  firm.  The  dishes  I  had  selected  before 
leaving  my  room  that  morning,  those  dishes  of 
a  certainty  we  dined  of  at  night.  Had  I  not 
thought  out  the  soups  and  fish  whilst  taking  my 
bath;  the  entree  and  entremet  over  my  hair, 
the  savoury,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  during  my 
prayers?  Were  they  to  be  put  aside  after  all 
my  travail  and  weariness  of  spirit  by  a  woman 
named  Perkins  ? 

"  Did  you  say  roly-poly  pudding,  Madame?  " 
she  demanded  in  such  pained  amazement  the 
other  morning  that  I  had  to  bite  my  tongue  so 
severely  to  keep  from  laughing  that  it  really 
hurt. 

I  nodded.  "  I  believe  the  master  would  like 
it,  though  he  never  gets  it.  And  if  we  write  it 
role  pole,  it  will  sound  French  and  taste  Eng 
lish." 

"  And  dolmans  in  vine  leaves  I  I  think  I 
know  everything  there  is  to  be  known  about 
cookery,  but  a  dolman  in  a  vine  leaf— 

"  You  haven't  met  dolmans  in  vine  leaves  ?  " 
87 


I  cried  in  such  well-simulated  astonishment 
that  Mrs.  Perkins  instantly  recollected  she  had. 
Mrs.  Perkins  can  lie  as  well  as  most  servants, 
and  she  is  resourceful  above  all  things. 

We  had  dolmans  that  night,  Granty,  and  they 
were  the  most  disagreeable  things  I  had  ever 
met.  A  sort  of  pulpy  beef  olive  rolled  up  in  a 
vine  leaf  which  was  burnt,  and  a  sash  round  its 
middle.  Lionel  remarked  that  Mrs.  Perkins 
was  going  off  in  her  cooking  and  I  felt  very 
unhappy.  Still  it  must  have  been  a  poser  to 
find  vine  leaves  all  in  a  minute,  and  I  cheered 
up  a  little.  Next  morning  I  enquired  carelessly 
how  she  had  obtained  them,  and  her  reply  sent 
me  into  something  very  like  a  temper  though  I 
kept  it  under  control !  "  Oh,  Madame,  the  leaf 
part  seemed  immaterial  to  me  so  long  as  the 
inside  was  right,  so  I  just  used  large  currant 
leaves,  I  thought  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  de 
tect  the  difference."  And  I  hadn't. 

Now  I  am  spending  every  minute  I  can 
snatch  in  trying  to  think  of  a  dish  Mrs.  Perkins 
doesn't  know,  and  cannot  get  beyond  stewed 
lampreys.  And  I  am  not  sure  if  you  can  get 
them  in  this  country,  or  whether  the  king  who 
died  from  overeating  them  had  had  them  im 
ported. 

88 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

It  took  me  a  week  to  drive  it  home  to  Bal- 
briggan  that  in  future  I  intended  to  think  out 
my  own  table  decorations.  He  could  do  the  ar 
ranging  of  the  flowers  and  /  do  the  planning. 
When  I  said  forget-me-nots  and  gypsophila  he 
appeared  not  to  have  heard  me,  and  as  from 
some  self-effacing  wraith  the  word  "  orchids  " 
was  breathed,  "  I  didn't  say  orchids,"  I  ob 
served  pleasantly.  "  I  think  you  are  a  little 
deaf,  Balbriggan,  I  said  forget-me-nots  and 
gypsophila.  See,  I  will  write  it  down  and  then 
you  won't  forget."  Gradually  I  am  winning 
through.  It  is  exhausting  this  hot  weather,  but 
it  must  be  done. 

July  4th. — I  have  been  thinking  of  what  you 
said  to  me  two  or  three  days  before  my  wed 
ding  :  "  You  will  probably  be  hurt  with  your 
husband  during  the  first  week  of  your  married 
life,  and  angry  with  him  the  second — most 
wives  are.  The  third  week  you  will  quarrel,  as 
you  are  of  a  sensitive  disposition,  and  the 
fourth  have  a  regular  row.  Then  the  air  will 
be  cleared,  and,  if  you  are  as  sensible  as  I  im 
agine  you  to  be,  you  will  settle  down  to  make 
the  best  of  things,  and  of  him.  He  is  probably 
doing  his  best.  It  may  be  a  bad  best  from  the 

89 


GWENDA 

standpoint  of  a  newly  married  woman,  but  it 
might  be  worse.  There  is  no  end  to  what  a  man 
can  do  if  he  likes.  So  if  you  just  succeed  in 
keeping  him  quiet  and  amused  and  pleased 
with  himself  and  in  a  good  temper,  you  are 
doing  a  lot.  But  one  thing  remember,  never 
lose  your  own  temper.  It's  bad  enough  for  a 
man  to  lose  his,  but  foolish  for  a  woman.  It  at 
once  puts  her  at  a  disadvantage.  The  moment 
she  lets  fly,  the  man  has  sufficient,  or  thinks  he 
has  sufficient  cause  to  bang  a  door  and  go  and 
get  drunk  somewhere.  If  he's  going  to  get 
drunk,  let  him  get  drunk  in  his  own  home. 
Don't,  through  the  sharpness  of  your  tongue, 
give  him  the  chance  of  saying  he's  been  driven 
out  of  his  own  house.  A  man  will  say  that  on 
the  slightest  provocation.  Moral,  never  lose 
your  temper." 

And  I  have  lost  mine  pretty  badly,  and  all 
about  nothing,  so  to  speak,  which,  as  you  say, 
has  put  me  at  such  a  disadvantage  that  I  have 
wanted  to  creep  into  a  nice  tight  hole  like  a 
lobworm  and  entirely  disappear  from  view. 
And  Lionel  and  I  are,  well,  not  exactly,  out  of 
friends,  as  little  children  say,  but  there  is  just 
a  suspicion  of  restraint  and  aloofness  between 
us  which  makes  me  feel  lonesome  and  sad. 

90 


GWENDA 

I  was  in  the  boudoir  this  morning,  where 
Lionel  likes  me  to  sit  after  breakfast,  when  he 
came  into  the  room.  He  usually  attends  to  his 
correspondence  in  the  library  at  this  hour,  so 
I  was  surprised  and  very  glad  to  see  him.  The 
boudoir  always  depresses  me,  and  I  sit  trying 
to  like  it  each  morning  without  much  success. 
His  appearance  brightened  up  things  wonder 
fully,  and  I  made  a  cheerful  remark  about  the 
beauty  of  the  morning,  which  seeing  it  was  rain 
ing  hard  at  the  moment,  was  a  little  out  of  place. 

He  stood  in  front  of  the  mantel-shelf  and 
picking  up  a  Cloisonne  vase  examined  it  with 
absent  eyes.  I  knew  that  he  wanted  to  say 
something  to  me  which  he  found  perhaps  a  lit 
tle  difficult,  and  wondering  what  it  could  be  I 
waited  for  him  to  speak. 

At  last  it  came,  and  I  admit  I  was  disap 
pointed  at  its  lack  of  interest :  "  What  are  you 
wearing  to-night  at  Lady  Eivers'  ?  " 

"  Heavens !  "  I  thought,  "  is  he  going  to  begin, 
too  ?  Surely  Fanchette  is  enough."  I  must  tell 
you  I  don't  yet  know  this  Lady  Eivers.  She 
called  upon  me  and  I  was  out.  I  returned  her 
call  and  she  was  out.  Evidently  she  held  a  posi 
tion  of  some  importance  in  Lionel's  eyes,  and 
a  spirit  of  mischief  entered  into  me. 

91 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"  I  had  thought  of  either  the  green-spangled 
net  or  my  wedding  dress  —  whichever  you 
prefer,"  I  said  gravely. 

He  made  a  little  movement  of  impatience. 
"  Have  you  nothing  smarter  than  either  of  those 
things?  Lady  Eivers  is  so — "  he  paused. 

"Yes?" 

"  So  beautifully  dressed,  and  I  expect  she's 
critical.  She  looks  it.  And  there  are  sure  to  be 
some  smart  women  there  to-night  with  eyes 
sharp  enough  to  recognise  that  your  gown  was 
made  by  some  provincial  dressmaker." 

"  And  if  they  did?  "  I  queried. 

He  raised  his  brows.  "  You  are  married  to 
a  rich  man.  You  can  afford  to  go  to  a  first- 
class  dressmaker.  You  can  afford  to  be  as  well- 
dressed  as  any  woman." 

"  But  I  must  wear  out  my  trousseau  frocks, 
they  can't  be  wasted.  My  green-spangled  net 
must  have  cost  five  pounds  if  it  cost  a  penny, 
and  my  wedding  dress  was  frightfully  expen 
sive,  the  bugle  trimming  alone  was  five  and  six 
pence  a  yard."  I  hid  the  laughter  in  my  voice, 
for  he  was  so  very  much  in  earnest,  and  he 
looked  such  a  splendid  figure  of  a  man  as  he 
leant  against  the  mantel-shelf. 

He  picked  up  the  Cloisonne  vase  and  banged 
92 


GWENDA 

it  down  with  some  violence  and  I  was  glad  that 
it  was  of  a  strong  make.  "  Give  them  away, 
every  one  of  your  clothes.  They're  all  dowdy, 
give  them  to  Fanchette." 

I  think,  perhaps,  he  saw  I  was  hurt,  for  he 
spoke  more  gently.  "  You  hadn't  much  chance 
of  picking  up  anything  decent  at  Exeter,  I  sup 
pose,  but  now  you  have,  so  get  yourself  an  en 
tire  new  outfit,  and  spare  no  expense.  There's 
a  Clotilde  who  hangs  out  in  some  back  street 
somewhere  or  other,  and  worth  her  weight  in 
gold." 

"  How  do  you  know  about  her? "  I  asked 
quietly. 

«  Oh— er " 

"  Don't,"  I  cried  suddenly,  "  I  don't  want  to 
know.  I  was  only  teasing  you.  Some  of  your 
smart  friends  will  have  told  you.  They  keep 
nothing  to  themselves.  I  heard  a  woman  tell 
a  man  the  other  day  that  she  wore  three  lots 
of  suspenders  to  keep  her  figure  down.  She 
laughed  immoderately,  and  apparently  thought 
the  information  interesting  and  amusing,  wheth 
er  he  thought  the  same,  or  simply  vulgar,  I 
don't  know.  I  have  already  discovered  Clo 
tilde.  She's  a  wonderful  person,  and  I  had 
given  her  an  order  for  a  dozen  new  gowns — 

93 


GWENDA 

morning,  visiting,  and  evening  before  I  knew 
what  I  was  doing.  I  had  begun  to  realise  that 
you  were  not  pleased  with  my  appearance.  I 
had  seen  you  glance  askance  at  my  toilets.  It 
hurt  me  a  bit  at  first.  Now  I  don't  mind.  I  can 
see  you  were  paying  me  a  high  compliment  in 
wishing  me  to  look  as  well  as  other  women. 
Now  I  hope  you  will  be  satisfied  for  some  of  the 
frocks  are  of  exquisite  make  and  material.  I 
knew  you  would  not  grouse  at  the  bills,  if  the 
result  were  good;  so  I  just  put  myself  unre 
servedly  into  Clotilde's  clever  hands.  Are  you 
pleased,  my  husband,  for  I  have  worked  hard?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  I  see  you  in  them,"  and 
I  smiled  at  his  caution,  it  was  so  exactly  like 
him. 

"  You  didn't  seem  dissatisfied  with  my  ap 
pearance  when  we  were  engaged,"  I  ventured, 
trying  to  keep  my  voice  practical. 

"  Ah,  you  were  unmarried  then,  and  simplic 
ity  was  in  keeping  with  your  setting.  Plain 
gowns  and  wide-brimmed  straw  hats  were  in 
harmony  with  cliffs  and  rocks  and  wild  moors. 
Paris  clothes  would  have  been  bizarre.  You 
knew  it,  and  your  pose  was  clever." 

"  My  pose !  "  My  cheeks  reddened  with  an 
ger.  Then  I  laughed.  Surely  he  was  teasing 

94 


GWENDA 

me.  "Do  you  really  think  I  am  that  sort?" 
I  asked,  with  my  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Women  can't  help  it.  You  are  freer  from 
it  than  most.  But  I  think  women  are  unattrac 
tive  if  they  are  perfectly  natural.  The  ele 
mental  woman  has  always  bored  me.  Your 
simplicity  attracted  me,  your  unworldliness, 
but  beneath  it  all  I  knew  there  was  a  substratum 
of  coquetry.  You  would  have  been  dull  with 
out." 

"  Good  heavens !  "  I  cried.  "  I  wonder  what 
I  shall  hear  next.  Will  you  think  I  am  telling 
you  an  untruth  if  I  say  I  have  never  posed  in 
my  life." 

"  You  think  you  haven't,  and  I  quite  believe 
you.  But  I  know  you  better,  my  Gwenda." 
And  he  laughed  as  again  the  colour  burnt  in 
my  cheeks.  "  And  why  should  you  mind?  We 
all  pose.  Your  fear  of  people,  your  air  of  shy 
ness,  the  look  of  wistfulness  in  your  wide 
gray  eyes,  are  all  a  pose,  and  a  very  pretty  one 
too.  They  caused  me  to  fall  in  love  with  you; 
but  now,  as  a  married  woman,  they  are  not  so 
becoming,  and  I  should  let  them  drop."  He 
tried  to  put  an  arm  round  me,  but  I  wrested 
myself  away  from  him. 

"Don't  touch  me,"  I  panted,  stamping  my 
95 


GWENDA 

foot.  "  You  shall  not  touch  me  if  you  feel  like 
that  about  me.  Oh—  "  and  I  dashed  out  of  the 
room  fearful  of  what  I  should  say  next. 

And  could  he  have  meant  it,  do  you  think? 
He  couldn't.  You  and  I  always  hated  people 
so  much  who  posed,  we  laughed  at  them  so.  We 
felt  so  scornful  toward  them.  I  remember  your 
saying  once  that  all  people  who  posed  were 
bores,  and  they  only  became  interesting  when 
they  were  natural.  So  I  am  a  bore.  Oh,  Granty, 
what  a  lot  of  disagreeable  things  I  am  finding- 
out  about  myself.  I  am  a  dowdy  bore,  and  1 
have  also  lost  my  temper.  But  married  life  is 
a  little  more  difficult  than  it  sounded  when 
Lionel  talked  about  it!  Quite  a  good  bit  more 
difficult. 

July  7th. — And  we  went  to  Lady  Eivers'  din 
ner  party,  and  it  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ever 
enter  her  house.  She  is  certainly  the  most  beau 
tiful  woman  I  have  seen  since  I  came  to  Lon 
don,  and  also  the  most  dangerous.  There  was 
something  about  her  which  filled  me  with  the 
most  curious  distrust  and  fear,  and  I  felt  if  1 
were  a  man  wanting  to  run  straight  I  should 
be  really  frightened  of  her.  She  moved  about 
among  her  guests,  easily,  charmingly,  a  smiling 

96 


GWENDA 

gracious  hostess,  exquisite  from  the  top  of  her 
perfectly  coiffured  head  to  the  point  of  her 
silver  slipper.  I  suppose,  too,  she  was  perfectly 
dressed,  but  there  was  so  little  of  it.  Directoire 
and  Princess  frocks  are  such  wisps,  that  I  found 
myself  growing  hot  as  she  walked  about  the 
room  and  had  much  ado  to  keep  myself  from 
shouting :  "  Madame,  you  have  forgotten  your 
petticoats." 

A  bored  elderly  young  stockbroker  —  why 
did  I  imagine  he  was  a  stockbroker — crooked 
his  elbow  and  led  me  in  to  dinner.  Oh,  how 
very  old  was  that  poor  young  man  and  how  very 
weary.  I  thought  he  would  fall  asleep  into  his 
soup.  He  picked  up  a  little  when  he  discovered 
that  I  was  married.  Hadn't  caught  my  name 
.  .  .  didn't  look  married  .  .  .  single  women 
frightened  him  so  dreadfully  .  .  .  only  felt  safe 
with  married  ones  .  .  .  and  their  talk  so  much 
more  interesting  ...  (a  droop  of  the  tired  eye 
lids).  Perhaps  I  would  be  kind  to  him. 

"  Poor  thing,"  I  said  sympathetically ;  and 
then  he  woke  up  and  tried  to  be  fascinating. 
The  vacuousness  of  his  conversation  was  worse 
than  his  sleepiness.  I  should  have  loved  to 
have  slapped  a  mustard  leaf  suddenly  onto  his 
spine,  and  awaited  results.  Tiring  of  him  I 

97 


GWENDA 

turned  my  attention  to  the  rest  of  the  assem 
bled  company  and  mine  hostess.  The  table  was 
round,  covers  for  sixteen  only,  and  I  could  hear 
every  word  of  the  conversation  distinctly.  I 
am  not  a  prude.  Why  do  I  preface  what  I  am 
going  to  say  with  that?  Am  I  afraid  of  the 
opinion  of  such  people  as  these?  Am  I  afraid 
of  being  dubbed  superior,  priggish,  provincial? 
But  I  know  you  will  not  think  this  of  me. 
Granty,  the  conversation  of  these  men  and  wom 
en  left  me  amazed.  At  first  I  could  hardly 
credit  that  I  heard  aright.  Stories  of  well- 
known  people,  dancers,  actresses,  public  serv 
ants,  even  Cabinet  Ministers  could  not  escape. 
Characters  torn  to  shreds,  reputations  left  with 
not  a  leg  to  stand  upon.  Plays,  books  discussed 
that  should  have  been  undiscussable.  A  public 
censor  should  have  been  at  the  elbow  of  each 
man  and  woman,  and  more  especially  the  wom 
an.  All  touched  upon  in  a  light  pseudo  modest 
fashion,  with  shrugs  of  apologetic  white  shoul 
ders,  eyelids  modestly  cast  down,  and  an  air 
of :  "I  am  not  responsible  for  this  bit  of  scan 
dal.  You  must  take  it  for  what  it  is  worth." 
I  looked  at  Lionel.  What  did  he  mean  by 
bringing  me  to  such  a  house  and  making  me 
associate  with  such  people?  He  couldn't  have 

98 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

known,  couldn't  have  had  an  idea,  or  he  would 
not  have  subjected  me  to  such  an  indignity.  I 
held  him  with  my  eyes,  seeking  and  asking  for 
sympathy,  but  he  was  engrossed  with  Lady 
Rivers  and  didn't  look  my  way.  He  seemed 
perfectly  contented  and  at  home,  and  was  so 
absorbed  that  possibly  the  conversation  around 
him  had  escaped  his  attention. 

Presently  I  made  a  show  of  talking  to  my 
companion,  and  he  remarked  in  a  plaintive 
voice  that  I  might  have  been  to  a  funeral. 

"  Perhaps,  I  have,"  I  returned  smiling,  "  the 
funeral  of  my  lost  ideals." 

"Difficult  burying?" 

"  Very  difficult,  because  I  would  fain  have 
kept  them  with  me.  Perhaps  you  have  noticed 
that  when  your  ideals,  your  illusions  go  you 
begin  to  feel  old,"  I  said. 

"  Never  had  any.  Rotten  things  to  have. 
You're  bound  to  lose  them,  then  down  you  come 
to  earth  with  a  bang  like  a  man  who's  lost  con 
trol  of  his  aeroplane.  Never  keen  on  hurting 
myself.  Very  practical  chap." 

"  But  if  you  never  have  any  illusions  you 
miss  a  great  deal  of  the  beauty  of  life,  and  the 
sadness  of  the  world  hurts  you  badly." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said 
99 


GWENDA 

thoughtfully,  "  and  I'm  rather  tired.  I  only 
like  talking  about  common  or  garden  things 
when  I'm  dining  out,  nothing  that  requires  any 
effort  of  thought.  Most  women  are  too  clever 
for  me — I  mean  married  women,  and  girls  want 
to  flirt." 

"Do  they?" 

"  You  needn't  be  quite  so  astonished,"  he 
said,  leaning  back  in  his  seat  and  closing  his 
eyes.  "  Some  people  like  me." 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  know  you  very  well,  but 
I  am  sure  it  is  possible,"  I  rejoined. 

He  looked  at  me  with  languid  eyes.  "  I  can't 
think  why  you  are  so  unkind  to  me.  I  have 
done  nothing  to  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  been  horrid,  but  I  feel 
horrid." 

"  I  haven't  minded,"  he  assured  me.  "  I  mind 
very  few  things.  Ah,"  he  roused  himself  with 
a  show  of  interest,  "  Lady  Rivers  is  going  to 
tell  a  story.  She  usually  reserves  a  clinker  till 
the  end  of  dinner."  He  leaned  forward  quite 
eagerly.  I  would  repeat  that  story  but  I  don't 
think  you  would  see  the  point  of  it,  I  didn't, 
and  Lionel  explained  it  to  me  afterward  at  my 
request.  I  wanted  to  understand  why  the  oth 
ers  had  laughed  so  immoderately.  Her  voice 

100 


GWENDA 

was  sweet  and  her  language  well  chosen,  she 
might  have  been  talking  to  a  Sunday  school 
class. 

"  And  do  people — people  of  that  class,  I  mean 
—enjoy  such  stories?  "  I  demanded  vehemently, 
as  we  drove  home. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  '  people  of 
that  class,' "  Lionel  replied  coldly. 

"  Common,  vulgar,  evil-minded  people,"  I 
cried,  losing  control  of  myself. 

For  a  moment  I  could  hear  him  breathe  a 
little  hard.  He  was  leaning  far  back  in  the 
carriage  and  I  could  not  see  his  face. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  take  that  back,"  he  said 
at  length  very  quietly,  "your  language  is 
strong." 

"  Never." 

"  They  are  my  friends." 

"Your  friends!"  I  repeated  incredulously. 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  I  am  sorry  for  your  taste."  Granty, 
I  shouldn't  have  said  that.  I  knew  he  was 
angry,  and  I  shouldn't  have  fanned  the  flame. 
But  I  too  was  angry. 

"  They  will  also  be  your  friends.  Your 
opinion  of  my  taste  we  will  leave  out  of  the 
question." 

101 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"  They  will  never  be  my  acquaintances  let 
alone  my  friends."  My  voice  was  steady,  but 
I  shook  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You  will  send  out  invitations  to  a  dinner 
next  week,  and  Lady  Eivers  must  be  the  prin 
cipal  guest,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Lionel,  you  cannot  mean  it!  " 

"  But  I  do." 

I  leant  back  trying  to  read  his  face,  and 
slipped  my  hand  into  his,  there  was  something 
in  his  voice  that  had  chilled  me,  but  he  made 
no  response.  "You  cannot  mean  me  to  know 
that  woman,"  I  whispered. 

"  I  do  most  decidedly.  I  think  it  would  be  a 
privilege.  I  have  not  known  Lady  Eivers  long 
or  intimately,  but  I  think  she  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  attractive  women  in  London. 
Why  you  dub  her  *  that  woman '  beats  my  com 
prehension." 

"And  you  approve  of  her?  Think  her  re 
fined,  and  enjoy  her  stories  T  " 

"  What  I  know  of  her  I  distinctly  approve. 
I  think  her  quite  good  enough  for  my  wife  to 
know.  And  as  for  her  stories,  pah!  Only  a 
bread  and  butter  miss  straight  from  the  school 
room  could  possibly  look  down  her  nose  at 
them." 

102 


"  That  last  story  amusing?  " 

"  Certainly,  and  scarcely  risque.  You  are  a 
little  prude,  my  dear,  and  prudes  have  always 
excessively  annoyed  me.  They  are  not  only 
self-satisfied,  but  boring.  What  is  the  matter 
with  you,  Gwenda?  You  have  very  much 
changed.  "What  has  become  of  my  bright  jolly 
charming  girl?  You  used  to  be  so  sensible. 
Now  you  are  always  puling."  He  slipped  his 
arm  round  me. 

"  I  have  not  changed,"  I  said  slowly,  battling 
to  keep  the  tears  back,  for  his  words  had  hurt. 
"  I  have  not  changed,  only  you  didn't  know  me 
before.  Our  courtship  was  too  short,  and  I 
am  sorry,  sorry  for  us  both." 

"  You  needn't  be  sorry  for  me.  I  am  quite 
satisfied  when  you  behave  sensibly.  And  you 
looked  Al  to-night.  I  was  quite  proud  of  you. 
That  simple  style  of  dressing  your  hair  suits 
you  though  it  isn't  fashionable.  If  you  regret 
that  you  married  me,  I'm  afraid  that  I  can't 
help  it.  I  do  everything  a  man  can  to  make 
you  happy,  and  if  you're  not,  it's  not  my  fault." 

"  I  am  happy.  I  mean  I  should  be  quite 
happy  if— 

"  If  you  had  your  own  way  about  everything," 
he  laughed. 

103 


"  No,  I  don't  mean  that.  I — I  didn't  know  I 
was  so  selfish,  Lionel,"  again  my  voice  broke. 

"  You  mean  if  I  didn't  insist  upon  your  know 
ing  people  like  Lady  Eivers  ?  " 

I  did  not  speak. 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  He  gave  my  arm  a 
little  shake. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  But  it  is  foolish  of  you.  You  will  have  to 
know  her." 

"  I  shall  never  know  her,"  I  said  quietly,  as 
we  arrived  at  our  own  door.  And,  without  say 
ing  "  good  night "  he  walked  up  the  stairs  and 
locked  himself  in  his  dressing  room. 

Of  course,  I  watered  my  pillow  with  tears. 
You  predicted  that  I  should — sooner  or  later. 
I  remember  the  occasion  upon  which  you  said 
it.  We  were  walking  up  the  cliffs  to  the  coast 
guard  station.  It  was  a  clear  fragrant  even 
ing  in  May.  The  gorse  was  golden  on  every 
side  of  us.  You  smiled  because  I  said  that  like 
Linnaeus  of  old  I  wanted  to  go  down  on  my 
knees  and  thank  God  for  its  glory,  its  golden 
glory.  I  broke  off  some  prickly  bits  and  inhaled 
its  subtle  almond  scent,  so  delicate  and  so  sweet. 
It  was  then  you  said  "  Gwenda,  you  are  very 
happy."  And  because  I  was  caressed  by  a 

104 


GWENDA 

warm  soft  wind,  and  wrapped  around  by  the 
scents  of  the  gorse  and  the  sea  and  the  stirring 
bracken,  and  because  there  was  green  new  turf 
at  my  feet,  and  overhead  the  blue  serene  sky 
and  a  baby  crescent  moon,  and  you  at  my  side 
and  life  before  me  with  Lionel,  I  cried  in  my 
arrogance  "  I  shall  always  be  happy."  And 
then  you  said  in  your  wise  way  and  with  a 
little  apology  for  your  pessimism,  "  No  woman 
is  always  happy  if  she  be  very  human  and  very 
affectionate  and  very  sensitive.  It  is  impossi 
ble  as  long  as  any  man  comes  into  her  life, 
whether  it  be  a  husband,  or  a  son,  or  a  brother. 
Men  bring  happiness  to  the  women  who  love 
them,  but  also  do  they  bring  much  sorrow,  espe 
cially  husbands.  Few  women  within  the  first 
few  months  of  their  married  life  escape  water 
ing  their  pillows  with  their  tears,  while  their 
husbands  snore  profoundly  at  their  sides.  In 
a  couple  of  years  the  women  snore  equally  pro 
foundly.  The  first  bloom  of  their  sensitiveness 
has  been  rubbed  off.  They  have  got  used  to 
things.  They  have  become  a  little  harder,  their 
romantic  affection  for  the  husband  has  become 
prosaic,  but  they  are  happier." 

The  prospect  that  a  time  will  come  when  I, 
too,  shall  learn  to  snore  profoundly  comforts 

105 


me    not    a    little,    and    let    it    come    quickly, 
I  cry. 

Now  when  you  next  write  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  what  a  hypothetical  friend  of  yours  named 
Belinda  Ann  did  when  she  was  confronted  with 
a  similar  difficulty  to  mine.  Belinda  Ann's  hus 
band  insisted  upon  her  receiving  at  her  house 
a  woman  of  whom  she  disapproved.  Belinda 
Ann  said  she  shouldn't;  her  husband  said  she 
must  and  should.  Belinda  Ann  loved  her  hus 
band  and  hated  hurting  him,  she  also  hated 
and  despised  the  woman.  What  did  she  do  ? 

Write  and  tell  me  quickly, 

Your  perplexed, 

GWENDA. 


106 


LETTER   VII 

PRINCE'S  GATE,  LONDON, 
July  14th. 

MY  DEAR  GRANTY: 

I  think  Belinda  Ann  acted  most  sensibly  in 
always  shelving  a  question  till  the  necessity 
arose  for  tackling  it.  For,  as  you  say,  the  Lady 
Rivers  of  the  world  might  go  to  Honolulu,  and 
fall  sick  of  a  fever,  and  die  and  be  planted 
among  the  daisies.  My  Lady  Rivers  is  remain 
ing  in  Town  till  the  end  of  the  Season,  I 
heard  her  say  so,  and  she  looks  extraordinarily 
healthy;  but  one  never  knows,  and  one  hopes 
for  the  best. 

Your  letter  did  me  heaps  of  good.  You  are 
quite  right.  I  did  take  the  whole  matter  too 
seriously.  There  was  nothing  to  water  my 
pillow  about.  If  Lionel  had  slapped  me  in  the 
face  as  you  suggest,  or  had  got  drunk,  or  had 
been  making  love  to  another  woman,  I  might 
have  felt  I  had  sufficient  cause  to  howl.  I  am 
a  sensitive  idiot,  and  will  you  think  me  mean 
if  I  say  I  don't  think  it  is  entirely  my  own 
fault? 

107 


GWENDA 

Granty,  you  sheltered  me  too  much  at  home. 
My  life  was  made  too  easy  for  me  from  the 
time  you  befriended  me  as  a  tiny  girl  till  the 
day  I  drove  away  in  all  my  wedding  finery, 
which  Fanchette  has  now  persuaded  a  second 
hand  clothes  woman  to  remove  from  the  prem 
ises.  I  started  out  in  the  world  badly  equipped 
to  do  battle  with  it.  I  had  got  into  a  groove, 
a  beautiful,  soft,  rounded  groove,  but  one  that 
did  not  help  me  to  face  life  gamely.  When  I 
was  hurt  you  rubbed  butter  and  placed  pieces 
of  raw  meat  on  the  bumps,  when  I  was  in  pain 
you  comforted  me  with  poultices  mentally  as 
well  as  physically,  when  I  cried  you  wiped  away 
the  tears.  You  should  have  let  me  cry  occasion 
ally  till  I  was  black  in  the  face,  and  allowed  me 
to  suffer  till  I  curled  up  like  a  wire-worm.  As 
it  is,  I  am  formless  and  without  any  back  bone ; 
perhaps  I  should  have  been  that  in  any  case — 
back  boneless,  but  you  didn't  give  me  a  chance. 
Anything  that  I  disliked  doing,  you  did  for  me, 
if  old  Hannah  was  not  about  to  see  you  giv 
ing  in  to  me.  Possibly  you  will  say  that  you 
only  gave  in  in  unimportant  matters,  but  they 
counted,  they  have  told  on  my  character. 

Oh,  what  a  beast  you  will  think  me.    I  am 
blaming  you  for  my  own  lack  of  strength,  put- 

108 


GWENDA 

ting  it  on  to  your  shoulders.  Searching  about 
like  Adam  and  Eve  for  someone  upon  whom 
to  lay  the  responsibility  of  my  shortcomings. 
Forgive  me.  I  have  always  liked  the  Serpent 
so  much  better  than  those  two  weaklings,  and  I 
am  going  to  try  to  do  so  much  better  now,  cease 
to  be  a  weakling,  and  like  Daniel  dare  to  stand 
alone  and  without  shouting  out  for  somebody  to 
prop  me  up. 

July  15th. — I  suddenly  felt  I  would  like  to 
have  a  picnic  this  afternoon.  The  weather  has 
been  insufferably  hot  and  we  have  rushed  about 
to  dinners  and  balls  and  theatres  and  race- 
meetings  till  I  am  beginning  to  feel  very,  very 
tired. 

We  had  a  huge  luncheon  party  to-day,  and 
when  by  half  past  three  everybody  had  gone, 
and  Lionel  departed  for  his  club,  and  I  was  left 
to  my  own  resources,  which  is  a  very  delight 
ful  and  unique  experience,  this  desire  for  a 
picnic  suddenly  came  upon  me.  Tea  out  under 
cool  spreading  branches,  near  cool  water,  with 
cool  grass  beneath  my  feet.  With  no  Balbrig- 
gan  to  announce  that  it  was  served,  with  no 
handsome  furniture — gorgeous  cabinets,  inlaid 
tables  and  solemn  grand  piano  sitting  staring 

109 


GWENDA 

at  me — but  just  the  furniture  of  the  earth  to 
bring  peace  to  my  soul  and  the  sounds  of  na 
ture  to  soothe  my  tired  spirit. 

Where  should  I  go?  I  wanted  to  be  unac 
companied.  If  I  selected  Richmond  Park,  two 
polite  liveried  servants  would  conduct  me  there 
by  motor  or  carriage,  it  was  too  late  to  go  by 
train.  I  searched  around  in  my  mind.  Why, 
Kensington  Gardens,  close  at  hand,  just  at  my 
elbow.  Plenty  of  cool  grass,  trees,  and  the 
water  would  be  supplied  by  the  Serpentine. 
Why  hadn't  I  thought  of  it  before? 

Balbriggan's  face  as  I  ordered  the  thermos 
and  tea-basket  to  be  prepared  was  sphinx-like 
as  usual.  "  No,"  I  said  in  reply  to  his  question, 
I  did  not  want  the  carriage,  nor  the  electric 
brougham,  nor  the  car,  nor  anything,  nor  any 
body.  Who  then  would  carry  my  basket  as  I 
was  taking  tea  out?  Myself,  of  course.  Noth 
ing  gave  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  carry  a 
basket  on  a  nice  summer  afternoon,  so  long  as 
it  wasn't  a  clothes  or  a  fish  basket : 

"  It  makes  me  feel  picnicy,  and  pleasant,  and 
altogether  light-hearted,  Balbriggan,"  I  said. 
"  Indeed  the  mere  fact  of  having  a  basket  in 
my  hand  makes  me  want  to  run." 

"  Yes,  Madame,"  he  said  imperturbably. 
110 


GWENDA 

"  Has  it  the  same  effect  upon  you?  " 

"No,  Madame." 

The  very  thought  of  my  butler  running  made 
me  want  to  laugh,  and  I  checked  it  with  dif 
ficulty. 

"  I  shall  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,"  I  told  him. 
"  Please  put  the  things  on  the  hall  table." 

"Yes,  Madame." 

I  removed  my  luncheon  party  finery  and  got 
into  a  cotton  frock  and  shady  straw  hat.  I 
locked  Fanchette  out  of  the  room  for  I  guessed 
she  would  be  troublesome,  then  I  descended 
the  stairs  and  found  Balbriggan  awaiting  me 
with  the  basket.  He  looked  a  little  troubled 
as  he  bowed  me  out  of  the  front  door,  in  fact, 
I  could  hardly  persuade  him  to  part  with  the 
basket.  Couldn't  Hillingbran  carry  it  for  me 
to  whatever  place  I  was  going  and  then  leave 
me? 

"  No,"  I  said  sternly,  stepping  into  the  road, 
and  he  quickly  closed  the  door.  Possibly  he 
flew  to  a  window,  and  other  servants  may  have 
watched  me  from  various  points  of  vantage, 
but  I  cared  not.  I  was  alone,  I  was  free,  and 
it  was  a  glorious  summer  afternoon. 

When  I  reached  the  Serpentine  I  placed  my 
basket  beneath  a  tree  near  by,  and  then  helped 

111 


GWENDA 

two  little  boys  to  sail  boats.  It  was  very  excit 
ing,  and  by  the  time  I  had  finished  I  was  a  little 
wet  and  exhausted,  and  felt  I  had  earned  my 
tea. 

It  is  extraordinary  the  way  in  which  Provi 
dence  sometimes  upsets  one's  simplest  plans 
when  one  can  see  no  apparent  reason  for  doing 
so.  There  is  no  harm  in  drinking  tea  in  a  Lon 
don  Park,  it  is  an  innocent  amusement.  I  felt 
amiable  and  at  peace  with  all  men,  I  harboured 
no  unkind  or  evil  thoughts,  I  was  reading  out 
some  lines  from  Whittier — 

"And  if  the  husband  or  the  wife 
In  home's  strong  light  discovers 
Such  slight  defaults  as  failed  to  meet 
The  blinded  eyes  of  lovers, 

"Why  need  we  care  to  ask? — who  dreams 
Without  their  thorns  of  roses, 
Or  wonders  that  the  truest  steel 
The  readiest  spark  discloses? 

"For  still  in  mutual  sufferance  lies 
The  secret  of  true  living; 
Love  scarce  is  love  that  never  knows 
The  sweetness  of  forgiving." 

My  cup  was  suspended  in  the  air,  a  piece  of 
chocolate  cake  in  my  other  hand,  my  book 
stretched  open  on  my  knee,  when  raising  my 

112 


GWENDA 

eyes  I  descried  a  tall  gray  figure  through  the 
trees  that  somehow  seemed  familiar,  a  tall  up 
right  figure  of  a  man  that  was  coming  my  way. 
My  heart  beat  a  little  quickly.  "  It  cannot  be," 
I  told  myself.  "  It  is  impossible.  He  is  at  his 
club." 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  figure.  I  bent 
my  eyes  on  my  book.  Whoever  it  was  I  might 
escape  his  notice.  "  Love  scarce  is  love  that 
never  knows  the  sweetness  of  forgiving — "  I 
read  again  and  yet  again,  my  head  sinking 
lower  and  lower,  till  only  the  top  of  my  hat 
could  have  been  visible.  The  figure  stopped 
right  in  front  of  me,  but  I  did  not  look  up— 
the  crown  of  my  hat  I  hoped  was  attractive. 
And  then  there  came  a  voice — a  voice  full 
of  credulous  amazement;  of  sorrowful  amaze 
ment  and  reproach :  "  What  are  you  doing, 
Gwenda?" 

And  it  struck  me  as  being  a  stupid  question, 
for,  of  course,  it  was  so  very  obvious  what  I 
was  doing. 

"  I — I  am  just  having  tea  in  Kensington  Gar 
dens,"  I  explained  patiently. 

He  stood  and  stared  at  me  and  my  eyes 
dropped  before  his.  "  Will  you  have  some  ?  " 
I  asked  ingratiatingly.  "  There  is  plenty  for 

113 


GWENDA 

both.  You  can  have  the  cup  and  I  will  drink 
from  the  saucer." 

"  Gwenda ! " 

His  voice  was  so  loud  and  startling  that  I 
nearly  fell  off  the  seat. 

"Yes,  Lionel?" 

"  How  can  you?" 

"  I  am  so  fond  of  picnics.    Are — aren't  you?  " 

"Picnics  in  Kensington  Gardens?"  His 
horror  began  to  tell  on  me. 

"  There  is  nowhere  else  handy." 

"  Come  home  at  once.  We  might  be  seen  at 
any  moment.  Pack  up  the  things  quickly,"  he 
said. 

"Oh,  can't  I  just  finish!"  I  pleaded,  "You 
could  hold  my  parasol  in  front  of  me.  I — I  was 
so  enjoying  myself." 

"  Enjoying  yourself.  It  was  Providence  who 
made  me  return  to  the  house  so  soon,  and  Bal- 
briggan  at  once  told  me  you  had  gone  out  with 
the  tea-basket.  I  could  scarcely  believe  it." 

"  I  think  Providence  interferes  unnecessarily 
at  times,"  I  observed,  "don't  you?" 

He  did  not  reply,  and  with  trembling  fingers 
I  packed  up.  Then  I  searched  for  some  daisies 
and  buttercups  to  put  at  the  top  of  the  basket. 
"  If  we  meet  any  of  your  friends  they  will  think 

114 


GWENDA 

we  have  been  collecting  botanical  specimens," 
I  said. 

Still  he  did  not  reply. 

I  stood  in  front  of  him  feeling  like  a  naughty 
little  boy  who  has  been  caught  paddling  in  the 
duck  pond  in  his  best  velvet  suit.  "  I  am 
ready,"  I  said  meekly. 

He  offered  to  take  the  basket,  but  I  would 
not  give  it  to  him.  "  No,  I  don't  care  about 
appearances,"  I  said,  and  silently  we  walked 
home. 

When  we  reached  the  door  he  said  quite 
kindly :  "  Gwenda,  I  must  request  you  never 
to  do  such  a  thing  again.  You  are  not  a  nurse 
maid.  You  are  the  mistress  of  a  large  estab 
lishment  in  Prince's  Gate.  I  know  it  is  difficult 
for  you  to  realise  your  position,  but  you  must 
try  to  do  so  for  my  sake.  At  the  first  op 
portunity  I  will  take  you  down  into  the  country 
for  the  day,  and  we  will  have  a  real  picnic  with 
ginger  beer  and  pork  pies  for  lunch." 

"  How  glorious !  "  I  cried.  And  afterward  I 
realised  I  shouldn't  have  said  that  for  his  last 
words  had  been  intended  for  sarcasm. 

July  16th. — Lionel  has  just  gone  off  to  the 
Eclipse  Stakes  with  two  men  friends.  He  has 

115 


GWENDA 

been  trying  to  arrange  a  day's  entertainment 
for  me  in  his  absence,  and  as  the  thermometer 
registers  87°  in  the  shade,  I  would  listen  to 
none  of  his  suggestions.  It  is  difficult  to  make 
him  or  any  of  his  friends  understand  that  a 
quiet  day  to  some  people  is  a  real  pleasure. 
That  to  rest  and  read  and  have  nothing  to  do 
is  a  delight  to  one's  soul.  He  first  suggested 
a  matinee  with  a  friend.  "  In  this  heat,"  I 
cried.  Then  he  dangled  a  concert  at  the  Queen's 
Hall,  a  picture  gallery,  a  motor  show  at  Olym- 
pia,  a  cat  show,  a  flower  show,  an  aeroplane 
show  before  my  tired  eyes.  Then  he  passed  to 
a  fancy  fair  at  the  Crystal  Palace,  and  the 
White  City,  till  I  felt  I  was  going  to  scream. 
Finally  he  banged  out  of  the  room  in  something 
suspiciously  near  a  temper,  and  now  I  feel 
sorry  and  ashamed.  I  might  have  said  I  would 
go  somewhere  just  to  please  him.  I  needn't 
have  stayed  for  more  than  five  minutes,  and 
he  would  have  gone  to  Sandown  happy  in  the 
knowledge  that  I  was  going  to  be  amused. 

I  will  yet  go  to  the  cat  show,  I  will  telephone 
to  Mrs.  Prendergast  and  ask  her  to  go  with  me. 
It  is  not  late,  I  will  wear  my  coolest  frock,  and 
Lionel  will  think  I  have  had  a  glorious  time. 

Now  for  the  telephone,  and  then  an  awful 
116 


GWENDA 

half-hour  in  Fanchette's  hands,  with  a  fight 
over  my  hair,  and  a  blank  refusal  to  wear  a 
terrible  bee-hive  which  she  took  upon  herself 
to  order  because  it  was  so  sweet  and  chic  and 
which  she  happened  to  see  in  Sloane  street 
when  her  thoughts  were  far  far  away — noth 
ing  whatever  to  do  with  Madame  and  hats— 
when  suddenly  it  burst  upon  her  delighted  eyes 
— purple  grapes,  white  currants,  red  tomatoes, 
all  creeping  round  the  bee-hive,  and  as  in  a 
flash  she  saw  it  on  Madame's  head  and  was 
knocked  all  of  a  heap  at  the  beauty  thereat! 
And  to  humour  her  I  tried  it  on,  and  with 
clasped  hands  and  eyes  raised  to  Heaven  she 
raved.  Why,  I  cannot  imagine.  For  my  nose 
and  mouth  only  were  visible,  and  I  exactly  felt 
like  a  horse  in  blinkers.  In  preference  I  stick 
to  cart  wheels  and  creations  that  resemble  fully- 
rigged  battleships ;  and  I  catch  in  all  the  doors, 
and  jab  men  in  the  eye,  but  Fanchette  and 
Lionel  are  happy,  so  what  would  you?  And  I 
am  hoping  against  hope  that  a  day  will  never 
arrive  on  which  they  will  insist  upon  my  ap 
pearing  in  a  busby.  Jam  pots  and  bee-hives 
are  bad,  but  busbies  are  worse. 

If  there  is  one  thing  that  I  dislike  doing  in 
117 


my  life,  it  is  telephoning.  It  looks  so  easy,  and 
would  be  if  only  Balbriggan  would  cease  prowl 
ing  about  the  hall,  and  Hillingbran  from  se 
creting  himself  behind  doors,  and  their  both 
listening  to  my  '  Helios,'  and  '  Are  you  there ' 
and  'What's  that?'  and  watching  the  flush  of 
anger  mount  to  my  brow. 

Mrs.  Prendergast  is  undoubtedly  charming 
and  everything  that  her  husband  imagines  her 
to  be,  but  she  is  not  only  unintelligible  when 
speaking  through  a  telephone,  but  almost  stone 
deaf.  This  is  a  sample  of  our  attempt  at  a 
conversation  this  morning.  She  is  "  on,"  and 
you  picture  her  pleasant  face  at  the  other  end. 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Prendergast!" 
pleasantly  and  very  friendly. 

"What's  that!" 

"How  do  you  do!" 

"  I  can't  hear  what  you  say." 

"  I  only  said  '  how  do  you  do ! '  '  shouting, 
and  annoyed  at  Balbriggan  floating  down  the 
hall. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  can't  hear." 

"  Never  mind,"  I  bawl,  trying  to  keep  calm. 
"  I  am  Mrs.  Conyngham  and  I  want  to  know, 
if  you  have  nothing  better  on,  if  you  will  go 
with  me  to  a  cat  show  this  morning." 

118 


GWENDA 

"Mrs.  who?" 

"  Mrs.  Conyngham." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Conyngham.     How  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  said  at  the  beginning." 

"Said  what?" 

"How  do  you  do?" 

"  I  can't  hear  you." 

"  It's  of  no  consequence,"  checking  a  wild  de 
sire  to  dash  the  transmitter  against  the  wall. 

A  pause.  Then :  "  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Will  you  come  with  me  to  the 
Cat  Show,  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do  ? " 

"The  what  show?" 

"  The  Cat  Show." 

"  A  hat  show.    Yes,  where  is  it  ?    I  love  hats." 

"  A  Cat  Show.  Persians,  Angoras,  Tabbies, 
Tortoiseshells,"  I  scream,  and  now  everyone 
in  the  house  can  hear  me. 

"  Oh,  furs.  Didn't  you  say  Persian,  An 
gora?  I  suppose  they  are  being  sold  off  cheap. 
Yes,  I'll  come." 

"  But  I  didn't  say  furs,  I  said  cats." 

"Said  what?" 

"  CATS."  Balbriggan  approaches,  and  I  sim 
ply  foam  at  the  mouth.  "  If  you  would  speak 
quite  quietly,  Madame,  just  your  ordinary 

119 


GWENDA 

voice,  you  would  be  heard  perfectly,"  he  whis 
pers. 

"  And  so  I  am,"  I  retorted,  "  only  this  lady 
happens  to  be  stone  deaf." 

"  Which  makes  it  a  little  awkward,  Madame." 

"  Which  makes  it  exceedingly  awkward,  Bal- 
briggan." 

"  Are  you  still  there  Mrs.  Prendergast?  " 

"  Yes." 

(Now  I  am  speaking  in  my  ordinary  voice) 
"  I  said,  Cat  Show." 

"Oh!  Yes,  I  should  like  it  immensely,  Mrs. 
Conyngham.  I  shall  be  delighted  if  you  will 
lunch  with  me  afterward.  Just  ourselves." 

"  Thanks  awfully.  Can  you  be  ready  by 
twelve  o'clock  and  I  will  call  for  you!  " 

"  Yes,  thanks.  Good-bye  for  the  present." 
And  she  rang  off,  and  now  that  her  hearing 
seemed  less  impaired  I  felt  quite  anxious  to 
prolong  the  conversation. 

Fanchette  was  in  an  unusually  tiresome 
mood.  She  held  forth  on  the  charms  of  the 
bee-hive  hat  till  I  was  worn  out.  Being  small 
in  circumference  it  was  the  very  thing  for  a 
show  where  the  rooms  would  be  crowded,  or 
the  busby  of  forget-me-nots  with  my  blue 

chiffon 

120 


GWENDA 

"  Fanchette,"  I  interrupted  sternly,  "  if  I 
were  going  to  a  show  of  the  British  Bee  Keep 
ers'  Association  I  would  wear  the  skep  even 
though  it  attracted  a  swarm  of  bees  to  settle 
on  my  head.  But  it  would  be  incongruous  with 
cats.  Nor  will  I  have  anything  to  do  with  a 
forget-me-not  busby,  or  an  old  gold  tegal  jam 
pot.  In  a  weak  moment  I  was  cajoled  into 
flinging  away  good  money  upon  them.  They 
can  repose  on  the  shelves  of  my  wardrobe  for 
you  to  feast  your  eyes  upon,  but  they  will  never 
rest  upon  my  head.  Give  me  my  black  shady 
crinoline  for  the  morning  is  hot.  And  don't 
argue." 

So  finally  I  arrived  at  Mrs.  Prendergast's 
door  at  twelve  o'clock  feeling  more  fit  for  bed 
than  anything  else. 

But  her  pleasant  companionship  soon  dis 
sipated  my  weariness,  and  the  mere  satisfac 
tion  of  looking  at  her  well  repaid  me  for  the 
sacrifice  I  was  making  for  Lionel. 

"  You  do  look  nice,"  I  said,  "  and  you  are 
wearing  a  jampot? " 

"  Oh,  they  happen  to  suit  me,"  she  laughed, 
"  though  they  are  hideous.  It  was  nice  of  you 
to  suggest  my  going  with  you." 

"  I  was  dull." 

121 


GWENDA 

"  Dull !  and  a  bride  of  a  couple  of  months' 
standing ! " 

"  I  suppose  that  is  why  I  am  dull.  Had  I 
been  married  for  some  time  I  should  have 
shaken  down  into  my  new  environment,  and 
had  plenty  of  real  friends,  I  hope.  Granty  and 
I  never  were  dull " 

"Who  is  Granty?"  she  interrupted.  And  it 
took  me  quite  ten  minutes  to  make  her  under 
stand  exactly  what  you  were  like.  And  she  was 
so  interested.  She  seemed  to  love  to  hear  about 
your  three  pink  shawls — morning,  afternoon, 
and  best — morning — faded ;  afternoon — fringe ; 
best — bobs;  also  about  your  silk  aprons  and 
fur-lined  velvet  boots.  And  of  your  interest  in 
politics,  and  your  grief  that  the  country  is  so 
going  to  the  dogs,  and  of  your  admiration  for 
the  House  of  Lords  and  all  things  Imperial,  and 
your  detestation  of  the  wild  acrobatic  and  jug 
gling  feats  of  the  Liberals.  And  of  your  affec 
tion  for  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward  as  a  novelist 
because  she  is  dignified  and  clean  in  her  writ 
ing,  and  of  your  fear  of  old  Hannah,  and  easy 
pleasantry  with  your  second  cousin,  old  Ad 
miral  Beancroft.  Of  your  adventurous  life  in 
Australia  when  you  were  a  child  and  could  fish 
and  shoot  and  ride  with  anybody,  and  of  your 

122 


life  in  Winchester  when  you  were  grown  up 
and  married.  And  then  of  your  removal  to 
Sunset  at  Silvercombe  and  the  arrival  of  me. 
And  at  this  point  we  arrived  at  the  Cat  Show 
and  Mrs.  Prendergast  said  you  must  be  a  per 
fect  duck,  and  I  replied  she  was  not  wanting 
in  perspicacity. 

Some  of  the  pussies  were  lovely,  with  long 
silky  coats  and  big  ruffs  and  mild  expressive 
eyes.  I  would  much  prefer  a  blue  Persian  to 
Shandy,  and  I  am  sure  it  would  be  more  com 
panionable  on  my  drives,  even  though  it  went 
to  sleep,  than  a  creature  that  is  always  trying 
to  bite. 

I  greatly  enjoyed  my  lunch  with  Mrs.  Pren 
dergast  ;  she  is  so  gay  and  interesting  and  really 
nice.  Two  little  girls  with  big  blue  eyes  and 
fair  pigtails  sat  one  on  each  side  of  her — twins, 
delightfully  solemn  and  shy,  and  amusing  when 
you  had  once  drawn  them  out.  Jane  and  Eliza 
beth  they  gravely  told  me  were  their  names. 
"  Are  you  sure  you  didn't  say  Marjory  and 
Dorothy!"  I  asked  them.  "Your  names  seem 
too  refreshing  to  be  true."  And  they  nodded 
their  heads  and  said  they  really  were  Jane  and 
Elizabeth.  They  also  called  their  mother, 
"  Mother "  and  not  "  Mummy."  They  don't 

123 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

care  much  for  lessons,  but  have  a  partiality  for 
grammar  and  parsing.  They  parsed  without  in 
vitation  "  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting 
day,"  at  a  breathless  rate,  and  had  an  argument 
as  to  whether  knell  was  a  common  noun,  of 
the  neuter  gender,  or  a  proper  noun,  of  the 
feminine  gender. 

"  Why,  it  isn't  a  girl's  name,  goose,"  said 
Jane  scornfully.  But  Elizabeth  wasn't  quite 
sure  and  appealed  to  me. 

"Knell?  Why  knell  means,"  I  said  flur- 
riedly,  "  Oh,  just  the  knell  of  parting  day ;  it 
certainly  doesn't  mean  a  girl's  name." 

"  I  see,"  said  little  Elizabeth  politely,  but 
she  was  telling  a  fib. 

Besides  parsing  they  also  rather  liked  Peter 
Pan,  but  not  Tinker  Bell,  said  Jane,  it  was  a 
silly  thing  and  didn't  mean  anything.  They 
also  liked  strawberries  and  cream,  and  the  book, 
Flat  Iron  for  a  Farthing,  and  Jonathan  Bliss, 
their  coachman,  because  he  had  a  sweet  weeny 
baby  and  three  white  kittens  with  their  eyes 
shut. 

When  they  bade  me  good-bye  they  pressed  me 
to  come  again  and  they  would  parse  some  more, 
perhaps  "  Toll  for  the  brave,"  or  "  Break,  break, 
break  on  thy  cold  gray  stones,  0  sea ! "  In  fact 

124 


GWENDA 

they  would  say  the  last  now  if  I  liked,  but  their 
mother  said  we  would  excuse  them  to-day. 

"  They  are  rather  nice,"  she  agreed,  "  and 
their  father  is  just  silly  over  them." 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  be  silly  over  anything 
he  possessed." 

"You  have  noticed  that!"  she  smiled. 

"  He  talked  of  you  nearly  the  whole  time  that 
night  you  dined  with  us,"  I  said. 

"  How  boring !  I  wish  I  could  break  him  of 
it.  I  am  certain  that  our  friends  must  get  to 
hate  me.  And  it  doesn't  prove  that  a  man 
is  a  bit  fond  of  his  wife  when  he  keeps  drag 
ging  her  into  the  conversation.  I  know  a  man 
who  asks  you  if  you  have  seen  his  wife  every 
time  he  meets  you,  and  he  is  notorious  for  his 
infidelities." 

"  Do  you  like  men!  "  I  enquired  suddenly. 

"Very  much,  don't  you?"  she  laughed. 

"  I  am  not  sure  yet,"  I  stirred  my  coffee  slow 
ly,  "  I  am  trying  to  find  out.  I  was  brought 
up  to  distrust  and  dislike  them.  Granty  hated 
most  of  them.  Why  I  never  knew." 

"Perhaps  her  marriage  was  unfortunate?" 

"  I  don't  know.  She  never  told  me.  But  if 
it  had  been,  would  it  make  her  unjust  toward 
all  men?  She  is  broad-minded." 

125 


GWENDA 

"  It  depends  on  her  temperament.  And  how 
much  her  husband  abused  her." 

I  felt  I  must  tell  you  this,  Granty.  It  seemed 
unfair  for  Mrs.  Prendergast  to  make  such  a 
suggestion,  and  you  not  to  know  it.  But  do  not 
tell  me  anything  you  don't  want  me  to  know; 
and  yet  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind,  her  words. 
I  hate  to  think  you  have  ever  been  unhappy. 
And  what  I  do  know  is  that  you  could  never 
have  been  unjust.  Your  dislike  for  men  is  not 
prejudice  but  temperamental.  That  is  how  I 
have  always  regarded  it.  Just  as  some  people 
dislike  dogs,  and  women  are  frightened  of  mice. 
Isn't  it  so,  dear? 

But  Mrs.  Prendergast  was  telling  me  what 
she  thought  of  men. 

"  I  like  them  for  their  simplicity  and  trans 
parency,"  she  said.  "  You  can  see  through  them 
as  easily  as  you  can  see  through  a  highly  pol 
ished  window.  But  try  to  see  through  a  wom 
an  and  you  might  just  as  well  look  for  your 
reflection  in  a  brackish  pool  with  the  sun  be 
hind  a  cloud.  There  are  exceptions  to  every 
rule,  of  course,  but  the  majority  of  men's  minds 
are  like  a  book  with  all  its  pages  cut,  clear  type, 
large  print,  plenty  of  capital  letters.  I  know 
all  this  has  been  said  hundreds  of  times,  but  it 

126 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

makes  it  none  the  less  true.  And  to  me  it  is 
their  charm.  The  simple  and  elemental  ones 
are  far  and  away  the  nicest  as  husbands,  don't 
you  think  so?  A  man  comes  home  from  busi 
ness,  he  meets  you  in  the  hall  and  tells  you  you 
can  buy  the  handsomest  emerald  bracelet  to  be 
found  in  Bond  street.  You  know  he  has  made  a 
good  spec.  The  next  day  he  trips  over  the  mat 
and  swears  horribly,  his  liver  is  out  of  order. 
He  tells  you  no  man  ever  had  a  more  charming 
or  delightful  wife  and  that  you  may  ask  your 
Aunt  Maria  to  come  and  visit  you ;  he  has  just 
beaten  his  man  at  golf  five  up  and  four.  You 
ask  Aunt  Maria,  and  by  the  time  she  arrives 
he  has  developed  a  bad  cold,  and  Aunt  Maria 
wishes  she  had  stayed  at  home  with  Uncle 
Robert  with  whose  particular  species  of  temper 
she  is  familiar  after  thirty  years'  experience. 
You  always  know  what  the  simple  men  are  up 
to,  and  why  they  are  up  to  it.  Beware  of  the 
man  who  never  loses  his  temper,  who  never 
turns  a  hair  when  his  wife's  flirtations  are  the 
talk  of  the  neighbourhood,  who  smiles  when  he 
ought  to  be  swearing,  and  who  strokes  the  cat 
when  he  ought  to  be  throwing  hassocks  at  it. 
The  man  who  has  his  temper  well  under  control 
and  who  always  turns  the  same  smiling  face  to 

127 


GWENDA 

the  world,  is  the  one  who  usually  rules  the  roost 
and  brings  havoc  into  other  men's  hen  roosts." 
She  poured  herself  out  another  cup  of  coffee, 
and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  So  you  think  to  achieve  happiness  in  a 
household  a  woman  should  rule  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Certainly,  if  she  does  it  tactfully.  A  man 
can  go  to  his  office  and  boss  dozens  of  clerks 
and  subordinates,  and  bang  about,  and  say  he 
won't  have  things,  and  raise  Cain  generally,  but 
he  is  never  a  happy  man  if  he  does  it  at  home, 
or  rather  his  wife  isn't  happy,  and  then,  of 
course,  if  he's  at  all  nice,  he's  miserable.  A 
man  may  lose  his  temper  at  home,  trip  over 
mats  and  swear,  grumble  about  the  omelette 
being  burnt,  scream  at  the  canary  for  singing 
too  loudly,  but  he  mustn't  boss.  A  really  sen 
sible  man  likes  things  fixed  up  for  him.  Invita 
tions  accepted  or  refused  without  appealing  to 
him,  the  destination  of  his  holidays  arranged 
without  discussion.  The  man  who  says  de 
cidedly  "  we'll  go  to  Eastbourne  or  to  Scotland," 
and  who  won't  go  to  Mrs.  Pikestaff's  for  the 
dinner  will  be  bad,  and  a  lot  of  nobodies  will 
be  there,  and  who  says  lie  shall  give  cook  notice 
unless  you  do,  is  the  man  to  avoid.  His  convic 
tions  are  too  assured  and  his  habits  too  settled. 

128 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

He  will  always  have  his  Yorkshire  pudding 
with  his  beef,  and  never  before  or  after  like  the 
dear  people  in  the  North,"  she  finished  with  a 
laugh. 

"  But  the  man  who  always  does  as  his 
wife  wishes  is  surely  a  bit  of  a  fool,"  I  de 
murred. 

"  You  wait  till  you  have  been  married  a  few 
years  and  then  see  if  you  are  inclined  to  offer 
the  same  proposition,"  she  replied  succinctly. 
"  But  he  mustn't  know  he  isn't  having  his  own 
way  about  everything,  his  wife  will  be  too  sen 
sible  and  tactful  for  that.  Or  if  he  does  know, 
he  is  too  artful  to  let  her  know  that  he  knows, 
and  so  they're  both  happy." 

"  Dear  me,  how  clever  you  are,"  I  observed, 
"  and  as  you  appear  to  be  so  up  in  the  subject 
of  marriage  can  you  give  me  any  hints  as  to 
how  a  girl  should  remain  happy  in  her  wedded 
state,  as  well  as  how  to  manage  her  husband? 
It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  successful  manage 
ment  and  happiness  necessarily  go  hand  in 
hand,  and  happiness  to  me  comes  before  every 
thing  else." 

"  Of  course,  it  does,"  she  agreed,  rising  and 
altering  the  position  of  a  blind,  taking  a  seat 
near  an  open  window.  "  How  to  arrive  at  mar- 

129 


GWENDA 

ried  happiness  if  a  woman  doesn't  care  about 
management?"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "Well, 
to  begin  with  she  should  start  expecting  very 
little  instead  of  very  much.  It  is  the  senti 
mental  girl  who  has  devoured  silly  love  stories, 
who  has  derived  all  her  ideas  of  love  and  mar 
riage  from  sensational  rubbish,  whose  heroes 
and  heroines  are  soulful,  unnatural,  bloodless 
creatures  without  human  sins  and  irritable 
tempers,  who  raises  the  first  cloud  in  the  hori 
zon  of  matrimonial  happiness.  She  is  sensitive 
and  ready  to  take  offence  at  the  most  trifling 
word.  She  has  for  some  months  been  sitting 
on  a  pedestal  while  a  fool  of  a  man  grovels  at 
her  feet  and  talks  nonsense.  He  has  placed 
her  there  and  not  unnaturally  she  enjoys  her 
lofty  position.  He  tells  her  she  is  a  goddess. 
He  looks  into  her  eyes  and  says  they  are  like 
stars,  and  her  mouth  which  he  kisses  he  likens 
unto  a  newly-opened  rosebud.  He  makes  her 
believe  that  her  intellect  is  nothing  short  of 
remarkable,  that  she  is  more  beautiful,  more 
charming,  more  virtuous,  more  heroic  than  any 
woman  who  has  ever  breathed.  She  laughingly 
denies  it,  and  all  the  same  feels  a  sort  of  Grace 
Darling  and  Joan  of  Arc  and  Florence  Night 
ingale  rolled  into  one,  with  the  face  and  figure 

130 


GWENDA 

of  a  Venus  de  Milo,  and  the  brain  of  a  George 
Sand  and  Madame  de  Stael.  She  is  almost  an 
noyed  that  her  family  does  not  see  her  in  this 
new  light,  and  offended  when  they  offer  her  a 
common  thing  like  a  pickled  herring  the  day  be 
fore  she  is  married.  And  one  can't  blame  her, 
it  is  the  man's  fault,  not  hers.  And  then,  within 
a  month  after  her  marriage,  a  morning  comes 
when  she  stops  feeling  like  any  of  these  things, 
and  all  because  the  eggs  are  hard-boiled  or  a 
button  is  off  some  unimportant  garment  of  her 
husband.  Flop  she  comes  to  earth,  a  little 
stunned  and  amazed,  with  feelings  lacerated 
and  tears  in  her  eyes.  Then  the  man,  who  is 
really  quite  a  good  fellow,  kisses  the  tears  away 
and  calls  himself  a  brute,  and  for  a  brief  period 
she  is  again  reinstated  in  the  good  opinion  of 
herself.  In  six  months'  time  when  the  tears 
still  come  at  an  impatient  or  rough  word,  he 
looks  worried  and  irritated  and  tells  her  not 
to  be  silly,  and  in  twelve  months  not  to  be 
a  fool,  and  he  bangs  the  door  when  he  leaves 
the  house.  And  now  the  critical  moment  has 
arrived  in  which  she  must  decide  whether  her 
marriage  shall  be  peaceful  and  moderately 
happy,  or  stormy  and  unhappy.  So  she  sits 
down  and  reviews  the  advantages  and  disad- 

131 


GWENDA 

vantages  of  the  married  state :  She  has  a  house 
of  her  own,  servants  of  her  own.  She  can  choose 
her  own  dishes  and  the  hours  for  meals,  and 
do  as  she  likes.  She  has  more  money  to  spend 
than  when  she  was  single.  And  she  has  the 
protection  of  a  man  who  is  right  at  heart,  a  bit 
selfish  and  rough  in  his  speech  perhaps,  but 
with  no  vices  and  ready  to  stand  by  her  in  a 
tight  place " 

"  But  there  doesn't  sound  much  romance  in 
this,"  I  interrupted. 

"  No,"  she  returned,  "  because  there  is  no 
romance  in  marriage,  only  in  courtship.  The 
minute  marriage  takes  place,  romance  departs. 
It  is  inevitable.  A  man  to  his  valet  is  never  a 
hero,  neither  is  he  to  his  wife,  nor  she  a  heroine 
to  her  husband.  But  if  the  one  has  tact  and  a 
sense  of  humour,  is  undemonstrative  and  not 
lavish  with  her  kisses,  if  she  refrains  from  re 
ferring  to  what  he  said  and  did  before  mar 
riage  ;  and  if  the  other  leads  a  straight  life  and 
has  his  temper  fairly  well  under  control,  they 
will  be  happier  married  than  single.  They  will 
have  founded  a  home  and  probably  a  family. 
They  will  care  for  one  another  in  an  un- 
romantic,  calm,  comfortable  fashion;  marriage 
has  brought  them  a  sense  of  completion,  a  feel- 

132 


GWENDA 

ing  of  satisfaction,  and  they  will  be  contented. 
What  more  can  anybody  want?  " 

"  A  great  deal,"  I  cried,  springing  up  and 
crossing  over  to  the  window.  "  Much  more 
than  this.  That  is  only  the  life  of  animals.  Men 
and  women  require  sympathy  and  understand 
ing.  They  need  the  gentle  word,  the  caress— 
at  least  women  do  when  life  becomes  hard. 
They  starve  and  shrivel  up  without  affection 
as  a  plant  fades  from  want  of  water.  For 
every  harsh  word  a  woman  receives  from  the 
man  she  loves  there  is  a  little  scar  in  her  soul. 
Some  women's  souls,  I  believe,  are  one  big  scar, 
and  when  that  scar  is  healed  and  she  feels  no 
further  sensation  or  pain,  it  means  she  has  be 
come  hard."  I  broke  off  at  her  look  of  surprise 
and  I  stammered  when  she  said,  "  How  do  you 
know  all  this  7  " 

"  I  feel  it  within  me,"  I  replied.  "  I  don't 
know,  but  it  is  true.  It  is  writ  on  some  women's 
faces.  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  women 
should  only  have  children." 

Again  she  looked  at  me,  and  I  knew  that  she 
wondered  at  my  warmth. 

"  But  it  is  not  always  the  women,"  she  said, 
dropping  her  light  half  bantering  tone  and  be 
coming  grave,  "men  often  suffer  too  in  their 

133 


GWENDA 

marriages.  Some  wives  are  so  unreasonable 
and  selfish.  They  can't  see  when  their  men  are 
tired  out  and  worried  by  their  business,  and 
just  want  to  be  let  alone.  They  are  annoyed 
if  they  are  not  always  willing  and  ready  to  go 
out  with  them  to  some  so-called  amusement, 
they  are  vexed  if  they  receive  curt  monosyl 
lables  to  their  endless  questions  and  chatter. 
They  feel  aggrieved  at  what  they  term  the  dul- 
ness  of  their  husbands.  They  forget  that  while 
they  are  fresh  at  the  end  of  a  day  which  has 
found  no  more  arduous  task  for  them  than  the 
ordering  of  the  dinner,  arranging  the  flowers, 
being  fitted  for  a  new  gown  and  playing  bridge, 
that  the  husband's  brain  and  hands  have  been 
at  it  hard  all  day  in  the  pursuit  of  that  money 
which  brings  so  many  little  comforts  and  lux 
uries  to  the  home." 

"  I  know,"  I  said.  "  I  forget.  Perhaps  wom 
en  leave  too  much  of  the  worries  and  troubles 
of  life  to  the  men,  and  they  don't  see  the  beam 
in  their  own  eyes." 

"  I  am  sure  they  don't.  But  mind  you,  in 
spite  of  my  defence  of  husbands  I  do  think  they 
are  more  to  blame  than  the  wives  if  the  course 
of  their  marriage  does  not  run  smooth." 

"  I  should  say  that  yours   ran  without   so 


GWENDA 

much  as  a  ripple,"  I  smiled,  "  but  perhaps  you 
are  an  exceptional  wife." 

"  It  is  nice  of  you  to  say  so,  and  I  let  my  hus 
band  think  it.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  and 
I  tell  you  this  in  confidence,  mine  is  rather  an 
exceptional  husband,"  and  she  leant  toward 
me  whispering  the  last  in  my  ear  with  a  comical 
little  gesture  to  keep  silent. 

"  Must  you  go  I  "  she  said.  "  Won't  you  stay 
to  tea!  I  am  on  my  pet  topic  and  am  so  en 
joying  myself." 

I  told  her  that  I  couldn't  as  there  were  sev 
eral  things  I  wanted  to  do  before  dinner,  and 
that  it  was  not  often  I  had  an  afternoon  to 
myself. 

"  May  I  come  again  soon? "  I  asked  as  she 
went  to  the  door  with  me.  "  No,  don't  call  a 
cab.  I  want  to  walk." 

"  Come  whenever  you  can,"  she  returned 
heartily.  "  We  long  to  know  you  better.  You 
see  my  husband  has  known  yours  for  years. 
I  have  not  seen  much  of  him  myself,  he  has 
always  been  such  an  engaged  man,  an  eligi 
ble  bachelor  is  very  much  run  after  wherever 
he  is." 

"  Were  you  surprised  to  hear  he  had  married 
a  girl  from  the  country  1 "  I  queried. 

135 


GWENDA 

"  Well,  I  was  rather,"  she  admitted,  "  and  he 
was  no  bad  judge." 

"  I  think  your  great  charm  lies  in  making 
people  feel  pleased  with  themselves,"  I  laughed 
as  I  walked  down  to  the  gate,  "  and  probably 
you  are  not  sincere." 

"  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing? "  she 
laughed  back.  "  Besides  sincere  people  are  al 
ways  disliked.  A  woman  once  kindly  told  me 
that  I  had  omitted  to  remove  the  powder  from 
my  nose,  and  I  have  hated  her  ever  since." 

I  walked  home  through  the  Park.  The  shade 
of  the  trees  was  pleasant  after  the  heat  of  the 
day,  and  the  grass  and  flowers  grateful  to  the 
eye.  The  road  was  crammed  with  carriages, 
and  the  footpaths  packed  with  smartly  dressed 
people ;  but  I  scarcely  saw  them.  Through  the 
crowds  I  moved,  my  parasol  tilted  behind  my 
head,  thinking  deeply  of  Mrs.  Prendergast's 
words,  of  our  conversation.  Had  I  been  feel 
ing  like  a  Grace  Darling,  a  George  Sand,  a 
Venus  de  Milo  rolled  in  one?  Was  I  expecting 
too  much  from  my  husband?  Demanding  too 
much  attention  and  affection  and  adulation? 
Because  his  wooing  had  been  a  passionate  one, 
was  I  foolish  to  expect  it  to  go  on  after  mar 
riage?  Mrs.  Prendergast  had  said  women 

136 


GWENDA 

should  be  chary  of  offering  their  kisses  and 
showing  too  much  affection.  That  they  were 
idiotic  to  remind  their  husbands  of  their  little 
speeches,  of  their  little  sacrifices,  of  their  words 
of  love  before  marriage.  Husbands  looked  fool 
ish  and  shuffled  their  newspapers  about  when 
their  wives  indulged  in  this. 

There  seemed  so  much  to  remember.  A  wife 
must  be  sympathetic  without  being  demonstra 
tive,  intelligent  without  being  clever.  Manage 
her  husband  with  tact  and  never  let  him  know 
it.  Eeceive  harsh  words  with  a  smile,  and  his 
indifference  with  cheerful  acquiescence,  always 
look  nice,  never  have  a  headache,  and  always 
be  in  good  spirits.  I  collided  with  an  elderly 
stout  gentleman  in  my  absorption,  and  although 
he  raised  his  hat  at  my  apology  he  looked  more 
inclined  to  fling  it  at  me.  I  arrived  home  de 
pressed  but  full  of  good  resolves. 

Lionel  came  in  about  seven  o'clock.  He  too 
was  depressed.  He  had  backed  no  winner. 
One  horse  had  scratched,  another  had  bolted, 
and  a  third  come  in  at  the  pace  of  a  coster- 
monger's  donkey.  I  sympathised  with  him,  and 
when  he  became  silent  I  fell  into  silence  too. 
He  was  tired  like  Mrs.  Prendergast's  weary 
business  husbands,  he  mustn't  be  worried  with 

137 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

questions  and  silly  chatter.  Quietly  I  munched 
salted  almonds.  Suddenly  he  turned  upon  me. 
"  You're  a  nice  cheerful  wife  to  come  home  to. 
Is  anything  the  matter  1 " 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  replied.  "  I  thought  you  were 
tired,"  and  I  proceeded  to  tell  him  of  my  after 
noon  with  Mrs.  Prendergast  and  the  cat  show. 

"  I  don't  like  that  woman,"  he  said  as  he 
followed  me  up  the  stairs  to  the  drawingroom. 

"  You  don't  like  Mrs.  Prendergast  I "  I  ex 
claimed  in  surprise. 

"  You  have  such  a  habit  of  repeating  one's 
remarks,  Gwenda.  I  wish  you  wouldn't,"  he 
said  irritably. 

"  Have  I  ?  I'm  sorry,"  I  returned,  trying  not 
to  get  hurt.  "  I  won't  do  it  again." 

He  sank  down  in  an  armchair  and  picked  up 
a  paper,  and  I  picked  up  a  book  "  Septimus  " 
and  I  soon  became  absorbed.  Presently  his 
voice  came  to  me  plaintively,  "You  are  enter 
taining.  I  have  been  out  the  whole  day  and 
you  just  sit  here  and  read." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  play  to  you?  "  I  put 
down  the  book  and  moved  toward  the  piano. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  if  it's  classical 
music,  I  can't  bear  those  dull  things  you  play. 
Can  you  manage  '  The  Merry  Widow  '  waltz?  " 

138 


GWENDA 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't,"  I  said,  feeling  most 
awfully  sorry  that  I  couldn't  oblige  him.  "  But 
I  know  *  Waltz  Bleu.'  " 

"That  old  thing!  No,  please  don't.  But 
never  mind,  I  think  I'll  go  and  have  a  game 
of  billiards  with  Dollington,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

So  I  cheerfully  said  I  didn't,  which  was  quite 
true,  for  I  was  beginning  to  feel  tired  of  being 
tactful  and  patient. 

And  I  am  sitting  in  my  dressing-gown  in  the 
boudoir  which  is  nice  and  cool  to-night.  Soon 
I  am  going  to  bed.  It  is  nearly  eleven  o'clock. 
I  am  depressed  still,  and  at  the  same  time  angry 
with  myself  because  I  am  so  foolishly  sensitive. 
I  am  hurt  because  Lionel  prefers  Dollington's 
company  to  mine,  and  I  am  vexed  because  I 
didn't  know  "  The  Merry  Widow "  waltz.  I 
shall  buy  it  to-morrow,  and  I  am  going  to  learn 
to  play  billiards.  There  is  a  jolly  table  here. 
It  is  coming  home  to  me  that  I  am  no  great 
catch  as  a  wife.  Still  Lionel  knew  of  my  ig 
norance  before  we  were  married.  Good-night. 
And  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Prendergast 
advised  me  never  to  think  or  refer  to  our  rela 
tions  with  one  another  before  marriage,  and  I 
must  try  to  remember. 

139 


GWENDA 

July  19th. — Don't  try  to  find  a  maid  named 
Martha  for  me.  Lionel  wishes  me  to  keep  Fan- 
chette.  A  country  girl,  he  says,  would  be  sure 
to  have  rough  red  hands  and  would  be  no  good 
at  doing  my  hair. 

"  But  I  mostly  do  it  myself,"  I  said ;  and  he 
replied  "  Ah,  that  explains  things,"  and  I 
didn't  ask  him  what  he  meant.  I  find  that  it  is 
better  sometimes  to  leave  things  unexplained. 

We  lunched  with  some  rather  dull  people  to 
day  named  Heckles  but  they  are  very  rich  and 
Mrs.  Heckles  drove  up  to  the  Bitz  in  a  gorgeous 
motor  car,  lined  with  pale  blue.  Mr.  Heckles 
talked  of  investments,  and  stocks  and  mines,  and 
companies  most  of  the  time,  and  when  my  at 
tention  wandered  he  rapped  on  the  table  with 
his  fork.  Once  I  ventured  to  say  that  for 
every  person  who  made  money  by  speculation 
somebody  else  must  be  the  loser  and  sufferer, 
and  I  might  have  thrown  a  bombshell  at  his 
head. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  finance,  young  lady!  " 
he  enquired  with  an  attempt  at  pleasant  bad 
inage. 

I  admitted  not  very  much,  and  he  asked  me 
why  then  had  I  made  such  an  observation. 

"  Well  it  seems  to  me  a  plain  fact  that  if  one 
140 


GWENDA 

man  makes  a  profit  in  a  deal  another  man 
makes  a  loss." 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said  in  a  loud  voice.  "  You 
ladies  must  stick  to  your  frocks  and  bridge  and 
amusements,  and  leave  money  matters  alone." 

And  I  dared  not  venture  to  remind  him  that 
he  had  introduced  the  subject  himself  and  not 
I;  besides  as  we  were  his  guests — I  certainly  a 
very  unwilling  one — it  would  hardly  have  been 
polite. 

Afterward  Lionel  told  me  that  I  had  made 
very  unfortunate  remarks  at  times,  and  I  could 
find  nothing  to  say.  I  didn't  feel  sorry  and  I 
wasn't  going  to  say  I  was.  Mr.  Heckles  is  a 
nasty  rude  man,  and  I  think  few  rich  people 

are  nice. 

Your  loving, 

GWENDA. 


141 


LETTER   VIII 

PRINCE'S  GATE,  LONDON,  S.  W., 
July  26th. 

MY  DEAR  GRANTY  : 

I  met  such  a  nice  man  last  evening,  a  queer, 
irregular-featured,  thin,  brown,  smallish  man, 
or  perhaps  he  looked  small  by  Lionel.  And  I 
shouldn't  exactly  say  I  met  him  for  I  had  fallen 
asleep  in  a  conservatory  and  when  I  awoke  I 
found  him  there.  We  were  at  a  supper  and 
cotillion  given  by  the  Prendergasts.  Lionel 
dances  beautifully.  Cotillions,  of  course,  are 
quite  beyond  my  reach,  and  after  watching  some 
little  time,  feeling  tired,  I  slipped  quietly  away 
to  the  dim  conservatory — softly  lighted  and 
sweet  with  the  scent  of  a  tea  rose  which  clam 
bered  over  the  roof.  The  chairs  were  seductive, 
the  air  was  warm,  and  sounds  of  dance  music 
came  from  the  distant  ball  room.  We  had  been 
up  late  for  eight  consecutive  nights.  Can  you 
wonder  I  slept? 

When  I  woke  I  found  this  man  gravely  re- 
142 


GWENDA 

garding  me  and  I  thought  a  little  anxiously. 
He  was  seated  near  to  me. 

"  I  hope  I  didn't  snore  ?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

"  Only  a  little,"  he  assured  me.  "  You  see 
you  were  on  your  back,  and  it  is  an  uncomfort 
able  position." 

I  laughed,  and  looked  at  him  with  interest. 

"  If  I  was  snoring,  I  think  it  would  have 
shown  greater  delicacy  of  feeling  if  you  had 
gone  away,"  I  said  gravely. 

"  That  was  my  first  intention,  but  on  examin 
ing  your  face,  you  were  so  white  I  thought  you 
were  ill  and  hoped  to  be  able  to  render  you 
some  assistance." 

"  Do  I  look  ill !  "  I  enquired  anxiously. 

He  hesitated.  "  You  do  rather,  and  I  hope 
you  don't  mind  my  saying  so." 

"  I  am  very  tired,  that  is  all.  This  has  been 
a  hard  season,  and  my  first." 

"Your  first?"     He  spoke  incredulously. 

"Why  are  you  so  surprised?  Do  I  look  as 
old  as  that?  First  you  tell  me  I  look  ill,  which 
really  means  I  look  plain,  and  then  you  are 
frightfully  surprised  when  I  say  it  is  my  first 
season,"  I  laughed. 

A  smile  passed  over  his  thin  brown  features. 
"  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  appeared  rude,"  he  said 

143 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

simply.  "  I  certainly  did  not  think  you  looked 
plain,  and  I  did  think  you  looked  older  than  a 
debutante." 

"  You  are  quite  right.  I  am  twenty-five.  And 
don't  you  think  we  might  introduce  ourselves 
as  our  hostess  isn't  here?  Or  perhaps  you  are 
going  to  dance  ?  " 

"  No,  like  you  I  am  tired.  I  have  had  a  hard 
day." 

"  Well,  in  the  ordinary  way  you  would  be 
presented  to  me.  So  will  you  tell  me  your  name 
first?"  I  said. 

"  Peter." 

"Is  that  all?    Just  Peter?" 

"Yes,  for  to-night.  I  am  tired  of  my  other 
name.  I  have  heard  it  so  much  to-day." 

"  You  are  a  Member  of  Parliament  ? "  I 
queried. 

"  God  forbid,"  he  replied  with  great  earnest 
ness. 

"  You  are  not  complimentary  to  His  Majesty's 
Government,  Mr.  Peter." 

"  No."  He  offered  me  a  cushion  for  my  back 
and  a  stool  for  my  feet,  and  asked  me  if  he 
could  procure  me  any  refreshment.  I  told  him 
No. 

"  You  would  like  to  stay  here  ?  "  he  asked. 
144 


GWENDA 

"  Yes,  but  don't  let  me  keep  you,"  I  returned. 

"  Why,  I  want  to  stay  above  all  things, 
Miss—  Will  you  tell  me  your  name  now?  It 
is  your  turn." 

"  Gwenda." 

"Only  Gwenda?" 

"  Gwendolen  Mary,  or  Gwenda,  for  short." 

"  No  other  name  ?  " 

"  No,  like  you,  I  have  only  one  name  to 
night." 

"  It  is  a  pretty  one,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 

There  was  something  very  straight  and  kind 
ly  about  this  man,  and  he  was  a  gentleman  in 
every  sense  of  the  word  one  could  see,  gentle 
and  considerate.  I  felt  I  wanted  to  know  him 
better.  His  face  certainly  would  have  been  de 
scribed  as  plain,  but  his  head  was  well-formed 
and  clever  with  good  brain  development  above 
the  eyebrows.  Do  you  remember  how  you  and 
I  used  to  search  around  for  brainy  bumps,  and 
how  very  flat  most  of  our  friends'  foreheads 
were?  What  I  was  most  struck  with  were  his 
hands,  they  were  beautifully  shaped  with  deli 
cate  sensitive-looking  fingers.  "  Not  an  artist," 
I  said  to  myself.  I  have  observed  that  the 
fingers  of  most  artists  I  have  met  are  podgy 
with  broad  finger  tips  and  nails.  And  not  a 

145 


GWENDA 

musician,  and  not  a  literary  man.  I  felt  he 
was  none  of  these.  What  was  he  1  I  very  much 
wanted  to  know.  Perhaps  his  conversation 
would  enlighten  me,  but  it  was  mostly  about 
yachting  and  fishing  and  approaching  holidays. 

He  was  surprised  that  I  didn't  want  to  go  to 
Scotland,  and  I  did  not  tell  him  it  was  because 
I  wished  to  go  to  you  at  Silvercombe. 

"  Scotland,"  he  said  with  enthusiasm,  "  is  an 
ideal  country  for  holidays,  heather  spreading  a 
carpet  of  royal  purple  on  the  hills  and  moors  to 
the  feet  of  the  lovely  mournful  lochs.  Fir  trees 
glooming  against  the  sky,  bracing  air  with  a 
tang  of  peat  in  it,  trout  streams  brawling  and 
singing  through  the  valleys,  Scotch  beef,  Scotch 
scones,  and  a  vigorous  kindly  people." 

His  ardour  affected  me.  "  It  sounds  delicious 
after  the  heat  and  fatigue  of  London,"  I  sighed. 

"Why  do  you  do  so  much?"  he  asked  sym 
pathetically. 

"  I  can't  help  it.  Force  of  circumstances. 
Everybody  does  it,  and  most  of  them  seem  to 
enjoy  it.  I  shall  learn  to  enjoy  it  too  in  time. 
I  love  the  country  and  I  say  it  in  all  humility, 
because  perhaps  you  have  noticed  that  when 
people  love  the  country  they  are  generally  so 
proud  of  it.  They  look  down  upon  the  common 

146 


GWENDA 

herd  that  enjoys  the  pleasures  of  town.  Did 
it  ever  strike  you  how  conceited  Thoreau  and 
Eichard  Jefferies  were  at  times'?  I  always  feel 
that  Thoreau  wouldn't  have  lived  in  a  wood 
if  the  rest  of  the  world  had  been  unaware  of 
the  fact." 

He  smiled.  "  And  you  love  the  country  be 
cause  you  really  do  love  it  f  " 

"  I  love  it  because  I  know  it  so  well.  Usage, 
it  is  said,  is  second  nature.  I  am  so  used  to  the 
country  that  it  seems  part  of  myself.  Had  I 
been  born  and  brought  up  in  a  town  I  should 
most  probably  love  it  as  I  now  love  the  country. 
I  understand  the  country,  and  when  you  under 
stand  a  thing  you  usually  like  it.  I  am  begin 
ning  to  understand  bridge  and  like  it.  I  know 
from  the  signs  when  there  is  going  to  be  a  good 
hay  crop.  I  know  when  the  beans  will  be  a 
failure,  and  when  the  damsons  will  bow  down 
the  trees  with  their  weight.  I  know  when  a 
storm  is  coming  long  before  the  clouds  appear 
in  the  sky,  and  I  know  when  we  are  in  for  a 
spell  of  fine  weather.  All  the  insects  and  cater 
pillars  and  flies  and  birds  of  country  life  are 
known  to  me.  The  thrill  one  experiences  in  dis 
covering  the  nest  of  a  plover  after  tracking 
it  for  some  minutes  is  only  equalled  by  the  joy 

147 


of  finding  the  first  bit  of  coltsfoot  after  the  long 
barren  days  of  winter.  In  town  I  am  always 
knocking  up  against  my  own  ignorance  and  it 
hurts  my  pride.  The  customs  and  social  ameni 
ties  and  etiquette  of  these  people  are  as  a  Greek 
book  to  me.  But  I  am  learning  rapidly,  and 
Fanchette,  my  French  maid,  teaches  me  a  lot." 
I  had  forgotten  I  had  only  known  this  man  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"And  don't  you  like  people!"  he  enquired. 

"  Individually  but  not  collectively.  It  is  when 
people  are  in  a  mass  that  I  am  frightened.  The 
very  thought  of  being  announced  into  a  draw- 
ingroorn  fills  me  with  dread.  I  square  my 
shoulders  and  throw  back  my  head  and  people 
say  I  am  haughty.  My  eyes  seek  the  carpet  and 
I  trip  over  my  train,  and  they  say  I  am  gauche. 
I  was  never  nervous  at  Silvercombe;  I  had 
known  the  few  residents  since  I  was  a  child  so  I 
expect  I  was  natural  with  them;  and  now  with 
these  people  I  am  always  self-conscious." 

He  nodded  sympathetically.  "  Yes,"  he  said, 
"  go  on."  And  then  suddenly  remembering  that 
I  was  telling  all  this  to  a  stranger  I  drew  in  my 
horns.  "No,"  I  said,  "you  talk  now,  I  have 
had  my  innings." 

"  With  pleasure,  if  I  only  knew  what  would 
148 


interest  you.  Do  you  object  to  my  smoking! " 
He  drew  out  a  cigarette  case.  "  How  cool  and 
pleasant  it  is  here.  I  never  expected  to  enjoy 
myself  so  much.  I  am  not  paying  empty  com 
pliments,  but  I  don't  care  for  dancing." 

"Why  did  you  come?" 

"Why  did  you?" 

"  I  had  to." 

"  So  had  I." 

"  Are  you  married  I  " 

"Dear  me,  no.  But  the  hostess,  Mrs.  Pren- 
dergast,  is  my  sister." 

"0— h!"  I  said. 

"  You  don't  sound  pleased." 

"  No,  it's  not  that,  but  now  I  understand  why 
I  have  been  puzzled  as  to  whom  you  resemble." 

"  Well,  don't  say  it  as  though  you  dislike  our 
appearance  so  much,"  he  observed  plaintively. 

I  laughed.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  admire  your 
sister  immensely.  She  has  a  kind  face,  and  yet 
it  is  so  quizzical,  as  though  she  were  smiling 
at  the  world  generally." 

"  So  she  is  mostly.  She  hoodwinks  her  hus 
band  and  everybody  else.  Jane  is  clever,  and 
she  is  also  the  kindest-hearted  creature  in  the 
world." 

"  Oh,  is  she  f  "  A  merry  voice  came  through 
149 


GWENDA 

the  open  door  of  the  conservatory.  "  Peter  you 
are  downright  rude  and  unkind.  You  said  you 
would  come  and  help  me.  Who  is  with  you? 
Oh,  Mrs.  Conyngham ! "  She  trailed  toward 
us  in  a  gown  of  silver  that  glittered  softly  in 
the  subdued  light.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  two  know 
each  other.  I  always  felt  you'd  be  friends. 
Peter  have  you  been  polite  to  Mrs.  Conyng 
ham?" 

"  Very,"  I  smiled  at  him,  and  to  my  surprise 
I  found  he  was  staring  at  me  fixedly  and  with  a 
frown  between  his  eyebrows.  "  Are  you  Mrs. 
Lionel  Conyngham? "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"Yes,"  I  said.    "Do  you  know  him?" 

"  I  know  him  very  well.  Here  he  is.  How 
do  you  do,  Conyngham? "  He  nodded  curtly. 
"  Good-bye  Mrs.  Conyngham.  You  have  given 
me  a  delightful  half  hour,"  and  he  walked  out 
of  the  conservatory  without  another  word. 

As  we  drove  home  Lionel  enquired  if  I  had 
met  Peter  Drexel  before. 

"  Is  that  his  name  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Yes,  a  brother  of  Mrs.  Prendergast,  and 
quite  a  famous  surgeon." 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  I  have  not  met  him  before  to 
night."  I  felt  that  was  just  what  he  ought  to 
be — a  surgeon. 

150 


GWENDA 

"  You  sounded  as  though  you  knew  each  other 
well." 

"  Did  we  ?  You  see  we  introduced  ourselves," 
I  replied.  "  I  think  people  who  do  that  always 
get  to  know  each  other  pretty  quickly,  the 
formal  barrier  is  broken  down  at  once.  Be 
sides  Mr.  Peter  Drexel  appears  to  be  very  in 
formal.  He  told  me  I  snored.  I  had  fallen 
asleep  in  the  conservatory.  You  soon  get  to 
know  a  person  after  that.  Also  he  told  me  I 
looked  white  and  seedy.  I  might  have  known 
he  was  a  doctor." 

"  H'm !  "  said  my  husband.  "  I  can't  have 
you  flirting  with  every  Dick,  Tom,  and  Harry 
you  meet." 

"  Mr.  Drexel  certainly  doesn't  come  under 
the  category  of  a  Dick,  Tom,  and  Harry,"  I 
laughed.  "  And  we  didn't  flirt." 

And  I  went  to  bed,  Granty,  strangely  happy 
that  Lionel  had  exhibited  a  little  spasm  of 
jealousy.  I  felt  it  was  a  good  sign. 

July  29th. — I  am  filled  with  sorrow  that  your 
disappointment  is  so  great  at  our  not  spending 
a  little  time  with  you  at  Silvercombe  before 
going  to  Scotland.  I  feel  absolutely  too  sick 
for  words  about  it.  I  had  pictured  the  lovely 

151 


GWENDA 

time  we  three  would  have  had  together:  the 
walks  in  the  evening  up  to  the  Coast  Guard, 
tea  out  of  the  dainty  Crown  Derby  under  the 
scented  lime  trees  in  the  afternoon,  bathing  in 
the  morning.  Calls  on  old  friends  and  show 
ing  off  my  handsome  husband  with  great  pride, 
which  I  was  too  shy  to  do  before  we  were  mar 
ried.  Foursomes  on  the  links  with  dear  old 
Colonel  Mainprice  and  Mary  Middleton,  lazy 
loungings  in  the  hammock  with  Creamy  the  cat 
purring  on  my  knee — and  there  would  have  been 
much  lazing  I  think  for  I  am  feeling  tired  and 
seedy — and  pleasant  evenings  in  the  drawing- 
room,  now  so  fresh  I  know  with  its  clean  chintz 
bibs  and  tuckers,  and  roses  on  the  polished 
table  in  the  corner,  and  on  the  mantel-shelf, 
and  piano,  and  what-not,  (nobody  in  London 
knows  what  a  what-not  is)  and  in  every  imag 
inable  spot  and  corner;  and  purple  clematis 
flowers  peeping  their  soft  velvety  faces  through 
the  open  windows.  I  have  pictured  it  all,  times 
without  number,  Granty:  I  never  imagined  I 
could  have  been  so  homesick  in  so  short  a 
time.  What  makes  me  I  wonder?  I  am  get 
ting  used  to  this  life.  I  am  enjoying  a  great 
deal  of  it.  Many  of  the  people  improve  on 
acquaintance.  They  are  fond  of  pleasure  and 

152 


society  and  everything  that  money  can  buy; 
but  why  shouldn't  they  be?  I  ask  myself.  And 
they  are  jolly  and  kindly  and  unself-conscious, 
and  if  they  get  the  best  out  of  life  it  would 
be  superior  to  say  they  shouldn't  so  long  as 
they  do  not  forget  the  poor  people  who  have  a 
worse  time  than  themselves.  And  yet  I  ache 
to  see  you.  I  have  tried  everything  in  my 
power  to  induce  Lionel  to  say  we  can  go  for 
one  fortnight  to  Silvercombe,  and  he  won't. 
And  Mrs.  Prendergast  said  it  was  so  easy  to 
manage  men.  I  have  been  firm  in  a  morning 
in  a  tailor-made  and  linen  collar;  tactful  in  an 
afternoon  in  a  lace  ruffle  and  plumed  picture 
hat;  beseeching  between  tea  and  dinner  in  a 
sweet  pastel-blue  tea-gown,  reclining  with  my 
head  amongst  pale  yellow  silken  cushions;  and 
positively  imploring  at  night  in  a  simple  white 
dinner  gown,  with  a  red  rose  behind  my  ear 
like  a  girl  in  a  book.  But  everything  has  failed. 
I  might  have  been  arguing  with  St.  Paul  when 
he  was  in  one  of  his  specially  antagonistic,  anti- 
women  moods.  I  would  just  like  Mrs.  Prender 
gast  to  try  and  manage  Lionel.  When  I  was 
firm  and  argumentative,  he  stared  and  said  he 
had  no  idea  I  was  such  an  unreasonable  girl. 
When  I  was  beseeching  and  inclined  to  be  a  lit- 

153 


GWENDA 

tie  emotional,  he  kissed  me  kindly  and,  at  the 
same  time,  mentioned  that  tears  in  a  woman 
was  to  him  one  of  her  most  futile  weapons. 
When  I  tried  to  be  alluring  and  irresistible,  he 
simply  said  the  rose  behind  my  ear  was  tickling 
his  nose  and  he  wasn't  sure  if  he  liked  flowers 
in  the  hair.  And  when  I  tried  flying  in  a 
temper,  he  walked  out  of  the  room  with  a 
shocked  expression. 

It  is  quite  evident  that  Mr.  Prendergast  and 
Lionel  are  built  of  very  different  material.  Mr. 
Prendergast  may  swear  when  he  trips  over 
mats  and  be  fiery  and  easily  extinguished, 
Lionel  simply  reprimands  a  servant  for  leav 
ing  a  mat  in  the  way,  and  is  self-contained  and 
of  extremely  slow  combustion.  You  might  try 
to  extinguish  his  fire,  but  nothing  would  get 
it  under,  neither  the  hose  pipe  nor  garden  soil 
once  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  on  burning. 

In  my  secret  heart  I  respect  and  admire  his 
strength  of  character  and  firmness  of  will,  I 
despise  a  weak  man,  as  you  know,  but  I  do  wish 
he  would  be  less  firm  about  Silvercombe. 

He  says  he  doesn't  know  how  I  can  wish  him 
to  go  to  a  seaside  place  in  August  when  it 
would  be  crammed  with  indecently  dressed  chil 
dren  with  buckets  and  spades  building  idiotic 

154 


GWENDA 

forts ;  and  fathers  in  Panama  hats  and  morning 
coats  and  knickerbockers ;  and  mothers  in  short 
skirts  and  pipe-clayed  boots  and  no  hats  and 
dishevelled  frowsy  locks.  Nothing  to  do  and 
nobody  to  know.  Perhaps  it  would  be  dull  for 
him.  And  I  had  my  way  in  going  to  Brittany, 
so  it  is  his  turn  now.  You,  not  understanding 
men,  and  you  can't  understand  them,  Granty, 
or  you  wouldn't  be  so  unjust  to  them,  will  say 
he  is  selfish.  But  he  isn't.  Why  should  he  give 
in  to  me  any  more  than  I  to  him?  Don't  you 
think  that  we  women  expect  men  to  give  in  to 
us  too  much!  As  you  know,  I  am  frightfully 
disappointed  that  we  shall  not  be  with  you,  but 
can't  you  see  his  point?  I  can,  at  least  I  nearly 
can. 

So  we  are  going  to  Scotland.  First  to  the 
house  of  a  real  laird  of  the  Clan — oh,  Pve  for 
gotten  the  name  of  it — an  uncle  by  marriage 
of  Lionel,  a  bachelor  living  in  the  heart  of  the 
Trossachs.  There  are  to  be  about  a  dozen 
guests,  and  there  will  be  a  little  fishing  and 
shooting — and  I  find  Lionel  is  keen  on  the  last; 
and  there  will  be  drives  and  walks,  and  bridge 
at  night.  So  we  ought  to  have  a  good  time.  The 
thought  alone  of  bees  humming  amongst  the 
heather  intoxicates  me.  But  the  sound  of  bees 

155 


humming  above  the  moors  of  Silvercombe  would 
be  best  of  all.    Oh,  when  shall  I  see  you,  dear! 

August  1st.  —  Again  I  want  council  with 
Belinda  Ann.  I  am  in  sore  difficulty,  and  know 
not  what  to  do.  Oh,  that  I  had  the  wings  of  a 
dove  and  could  fly  to  Silvercombe  for  advice 
and  help ! 

Lionel  has  invited  Lady  Rivers  to  dine  with 
us  to-morrow  night. 

We  met  her  at  Goodwood  last  Thursday. 
Lionel  and  I  were  strolling  about  after  lunch 
and  I  was  feeling  in  radiant  spirits.  The  day 
was  exquisite,  clear  and  cool  after  recent  rain, 
the  country  round  Goodwood  is  beautiful.  Two 
of  my  horses  had  won.  We  had  had  a  jolly 
lunch  and  Lionel  had  just  complimented  me  on 
my  costume.  What  more  could  a  girl  desire? 
When,  as  a  bolt  from  the  blue,  Lady  Eivers 
bore  down  upon  us  with  outstretched  hands  and 
smile  of  welcome. 

Of  course,  she  looked  perfect.  It  is  posi 
tively  exasperating  the  power  some  women 
possess  of  making  every  other  woman  feel 
dowdy  when  in  their  proximity.  A  minute  be 
fore  I  had  regarded  my  frock  with  satisfaction, 
now  nothing  seemed  more  desirable  than  the 

156 


GWENDA 

long  cut-away  black  satin  coat  she  was  wearing 
over  a  white  gown.  But,  Granty,  I  don't  think 
I  really  minded  her  clothes,  it  was  the  way  she 
was  looking  at  Lionel.  How  do  these  women 
do  it?  They  drop  their  heads  modestly  and 
then  peep  up  from  under  their  eyelashes.  If 
I  tried  to  do  it  I  should  simply  squint.  Anyway 
Lionel  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  and  gazed  back  with 
unconcealed  admiration.  Now  you  will  say  I 
am  vulgarly  jealous.  And  do  you  know  I  don't 
believe  I  am,  I  don't  think  I  ever  should  be 
jealous  of  Lionel.  I  feel  like  this  about  it.  If 
my  husband  ever  wanted  another  woman  I 
shouldn't  want  to  keep  him.  There  would  be 
no  happiness  to  me  in  succeeding  in  having  him 
at  my  side  if  he  wanted  to  be  elsewhere.  I 
should  be  too  proud.  If  he  were  merely  indulg 
ing  in  a  passing  flirtation,  perhaps  I  would 
make  an  effort  to  induce  him  to  flirt  with  me 
instead;  I  would  wear  my  prettiest  gown  and 
smile.  But  if  he  genuinely  loved  another  wom 
an,  I  should  pack  my  boxes  and  leave  him  a 
clear  field.  Don't  you  agree  with  me  in  this? 
Women  are  wanting  in  pride  and  self-respect 
if  they  remain  with  a  man  who  has  ceased  to 
love  them.  At  any  rate  that  is  my  way  of  think 
ing.  Had  Lady  Eivers  been  a  nice  woman 

157 


GWENDA 

Lionel  could  have  flirted  with  her  at  Goodwood 
to  his  heart's  content.  But  she  is  a  bad  woman, 
of  that  I  am  convinced. 

When  I  heard  Lionel  inviting  her  to  dine 
with  us,  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  ears.  And 
when  he  looked  at  me  to  second  the  invitation, 
I  was  dumb.  I  am  not  quick  witted,  neither 
would  I  stoop  to  lie  and  say  we  had  another 
engagement.  I  simply  stood  silent  and  awk 
ward.  Your  brains  would  have  helped  you  out 
of  the  dilemma,  mine  felt  addled  and  refused  to 
work.  Lionel  was  looking  at  me  expectantly; 
gradually  a  frown  gathered  between  his  eye 
brows.  Lady  Rivers'  silky  tones  relieved  the 
tension :  "  Perhaps  Mrs.  Conyngham  remem 
bers  an  engagement  which  you  have  forgotten. 
Men  are  so  naughty  in  that  respect." 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  we  have  no  engagement 
for  a  wonder.  An  old  Cambridge  friend  of  mine 
is  dining  with  us,  so  we  shall  just  be  four. 
Shan't  we,  Gwenda?" 

Still  I  could  not  speak,  and  apparently  grasp 
ing  the  situation,  Lionel,  with  ready  wit,  sud 
denly  took  hold  of  my  arm,  and  saying  that  I 
looked  ill  and  faint  and  he  wondered  he  hadn't 
noticed  it  before,  begged  Lady  Rivers  to  excuse 
us.  "  She  is  not  used  to  this  treadmill  of  pleas- 

158 


lire,  and  is  feeling  overdone  and  seedy,  I  must 
get  her  away  from  here  at  once,  catch  the  next 
train  back  to  town.  We  shall  expect  you  on 
Monday  night  without  fail.  Good-bye  Lady 
Rivers.  Sorry  to  leave  you  so  abruptly." 

And  when  we  had  left  her,  I  blazed  into  anger, 
"  How  could  you"?  "  I  cried.  "  You  know  I  am 
not  ill,  and  I  absolutely  refuse  to  return  to 
town,  and  I  also  absolutely  refuse  to  receive 
Lady  Rivers  next  Monday." 

"  You  will,"  he  said  in  that  calm  even  voice 
which  I  have  learnt  to  dread. 

"  The  woman  is  bad,"  I  said  passionately. 

"  You  say  that  because  you  have  heard  that 
she  has  been  divorced  from  her  husband." 

"  I  had  not  heard  it.  Neither  am  I  narrow. 
I  think  it  quite  possible  for  a  divorced  woman 
to  run  a  straight  decent  life  after  the  decree 
has  been  made  absolute.  Many  a  woman  sins 
from  self-sacrifice  and  devotion.  Such  women 
require  sympathy  and  help  from  the  women 
who  have  not  been  tempted.  Christ  himself 
taught  us  this.  He  believed  in  justice  before 
all  things.  Who  is  without  sin?  He  asked. 
But  Lady  Rivers  is  not  one  of  these,  and  you 
know  it.  You  have  only  to  look  at  her  to  know 
that  she  is  not  fit  to  associate  with  decent  wom- 

159 


GWENDA 

en,  and  I  wonder  that  you  could  wish  to  put 
such  an  indignity  upon  me." 

I  will  not  give  you  details  of  the  sad  pitiful 
quarrel  that  followed.  And  is  it  possible  that 
I  can  be  writing  to  you  thus  only  a  little  more 
than  three  months  after  our  marriage?  It 
seems  like  some  bad  dream.  And  all  the  time  I 
keep  asking  myself :  "  Is  it  my  fault?  "  It  must 
be.  For  Lionel  loved  me  when  he  asked  me  to 
be  his  wife,  and  he  cannot  have  stopped  loving 
me  so  quickly.  And  yet  if  he  still  loved  me,  he 
would  not  ask  me  to  do  a  thing  which  hurts  me 
so  much.  Do  you  think  he  would?  But  do  not 
think  because  of  this  trouble,  of  this  rift  within 
the  lute,  that  I  have  ceased  to  love  him.  God 
forbid  that.  "Without  my  love  for  my  husband 
I  should  be  like  a  ship  without  a  rudder,  a 
derelict  on  the  ocean  of  life.  And  I  think,  too, 
that  my  love  would  be  of  poor  stuff,  don't  you, 
if  it  stood  no  assaults  and  went  down  at  the 
first  blow?  Love  that  has  been  tried  by  fire 
surely  burns  brighter  for  its  purification.  But, 
oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  We  have  never 
touched  upon  the  subject  since  Thursday  last. 
Five  days  intervened  from  the  time  of  the  invi 
tation  to  the  dinner.  Something  might  crop  up 
I  hoped  to  prevent  its  taking  place.  But  noth- 

160 


ing  has  and  nothing  will.  This  is  the  evening 
of  the  fourth  day.  To-morrow  night  at  this 
hour  I  ought  to  be  dressing  to  receive  Lady 
Eivers.  There  will  be  no  time  for  a  letter  from 
you  in  reply  to  this.  No  time  for  the  advice  and 
counsel  which  I  so  earnestly  desire.  I  must 
act  on  my  own  initiative,  unless  your  friend 
Belinda  Ann  would  be  good  enough  to  send  me 
a  wire  saying  what  she  did  when  placed  in  a 
similar  position.  She  could  put  "  Stand  to 
your  guns  "  or  "  Surrender."  And  whichever 
course  she  advised  I  should  follow,  for  I  am 
beginning  to  think  she  has  achieved  wisdom 
after  much  tribulation. 

Expectantly, 

GWENDA. 


161 


LETTEE   IX 

• 

PRINCE'S  GATE,  LONDON,  W., 

August  3rd. 
MY  DEAR  GRANTY: 

I  stuck  to  my  guns  following  the  advice  of 
Belinda  Ann,  but  the  battle  was  a  hard  one,  and 
to-day  the  reflection  of  a  white  face — all  hair 
and  eyes — stares  at  me  from  the  mirror.  And 
I  am  asking  myself  "was  it  worth  it 7  Will 
Lady  Rivers'  morals  be  any  the  better  or  worse 
for  my  refusing  to  see  her?  and  have  I  per 
manently  alienated  the  affection  of  my  hus 
band?" 

I  retain  my  self-respect,  about  which  I  feel 
now  absolutely  indifferent,  and  I  have  a  bad 
sick  headache,  of  which  I  am  cruelly  conscious 
and  which  has  kept  me  to  my  bed  on  a  very  hot 
day.  Lionel  has  been  conspicuous  by  his  ab 
sence,  and  Fanchette  has  worried  me  with  eau- 
de-Cologne  handkerchiefs,  and  gruel  and  sickly 
messes  till  I  finally  burst  into  tears  and  en 
treated  her  to  leave  me.  I  am  wearing  a  silk 
and  lace  nightdress  which  cost  ,£3.15.0  and  there 

162 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

is  no  one  to  see  it  but  Shandy,  who  is  curled 
up  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed  and  making  a 
disgusting  noise,  half  snore  and  half  overfed 
grunt.  My  temperature  is  100°  and  I  long  to 
be  a  spirit  sitting  in  a  draught.  A  nice  cool 
spirit  without  flesh  or  bones  or  principles,  espe 
cially  the  last. 

This  afternoon  I  am  positively  envying  peo 
ple  who  have  no  principles.  They  are  gay,  and 
good  humoured,  and  generous,  as  a  rule.  They 
have  a  thoroughly  good  time,  and  everybody 
likes  them.  They  are  often  tender-hearted,  and 
adored  by  little  children  and  animals.  Just 
cast  your  eyes  around  upon  the  few — what  we 
should  describe  as  unprincipled  —  people  we 
have  known.  There  was  Captain  Eeynolds  who 
drank  like  a  fish  and  was  always  in  debt,  and 
yet  whom,  at  his  death,  the  whole  of  Silver- 
combe  mourned;  and  the  fisher  folk,  you  will 
remember,  deemed  it  an  honour  when  they  were 
permitted  to  carry  him  to  his  last  resting  place. 
There  is  Minna  Singleton.  We  know  she  tells 
lies,  I  have  detected  her  in  heaps,  and  her  sym 
pathy  toward  those  who  are  in  trouble  is  un 
bounded.  She  sat  up  the  whole  of  one  night 
with  Widow  Cowd's  baby  in  her  arms  hushing 
and  soothing  its  sufferings.  Would  Mrs.  Prin- 

1G3 


GWENDA 

gleton,  with  her  unanswering  code  of  honour, 
have  done  that  f  I  do  not  mean  that  necessarily 
the  highly  principled  people  have  fewer  lovable 
qualities  than  the  unprincipled,  but  I  do  think 
that  as  a  rule  they  are  less  sympathetic,  less 
kindly  in  their  feelings  toward  the  backsliders 
than  the  backsliders  are  toward  them.  So  busy 
are  they  in  living  up  to  their  principles  and  to 
the  standard  they  have  set  up  for  themselves, 
that  they  have  no  time  or  inclination  to  con 
sider  the  feelings  of  those  who  happen,  either 
through  carelessness  or  lack  of  moral  feeling, 
or  lack  of  healthy  training,  to  regard  things 
from  another  point  of  view. 

Possibly,  had  I  been  friendly  toward  Lady 
Rivers  I  might  have  helped  more  than  by  being 
unfriendly.  I  might  have  proved  to  her  that  it 
is  possible  to  lead  as  straight  and  decent  a  life 
as  one  can  and  at  the  same  time  be  tolerant 
and  kindly  to  those  whose  feet,  either  through 
bad  influence  or  bad  luck,  or  want  of  moral 
sense,  are  set  upon  the  crooked  paths  of  life. 
If  the  people  who  try  to  be  good  won't  help  the 
people  who  are  bad,  I  can't  find  much  use  for 
Christianity.  As  it  is,  Lady  Eivers,  in  all  prob 
ability,  went  away  raging  last  night  at  my  not 
being  present  at  dinner.  She  is  clever  and  would 

164 


not  believe  Lionel's  trumped-up  excuses  of  a 
headache  and  sudden  indisposition.  I  have 
gained  an  enemy,  and  a  dangerous  one  I  am 
sure.  Not  that  on  that  account  do  I  regret  my 
action,  but  because — and,  oh,  Granty,  you  will 
now  think  I  am  blaming  you  for  your  advice, 
and  I  am  not.  I  am  blaming  myself.  I  should 
have  acted  alone,  not  sought  help  from  anyone. 
Given  no  one  a  right  to  interfere  in  Lionel's 
and  my  affairs.  It  is  not  straight  to  him,  and 
—I  am  afraid  he  is  ceasing  to  care  for  me.  He 
said  some  bitter  things  to  me  last  evening, 
things  that  I  have  already  forgiven  but  can 
never  forget.  He  stood  over  my  chair,  when 
I  refused  to  dress,  like  some  dark  Fury,  threat 
ening,  never  raising  his  voice,  but  threat 
ening,  cruel  words  falling  from  his  lips.  His 
love  for  me  had  been  a  brief  passion,  a  mo 
ment's  insanity.  I  was  childish,  gauche,  fool 
ishly  simple.  Could  he  have  meant  all  this,  and 
why  do  I  tell  you?  My  heart  isn't  breaking,  be 
cause  I  don't  believe  it.  People  say  things  in 
their  passion  they  don't  mean  and  soon  forget. 
I,  myself,  uttered  words  of  which  I  am  now 
ashamed,  and  Lionel  is  a  man  of  strong  passion. 
In  a  few  hours  he  will  be  sorry  for  what  he 
said.  Come  to  me  and  make  friends  like  the 

165 


children.  And,  oh,  how  I  am  looking  forward 
to  that  coming.  I  have  tied  my  hair  with  a 
blue  ribbon,  and  I  shall  put  my  arms  around 
his  neck  and  say  I  am  sorry,  sorry  for  having 
given  him  cause  for  anger.  And  he  will  kiss 
me,  and  this  feeling  of  doubt  and  distrust 
which  has  lately  grown  upon  me,  doubt  of 
his  love,  will  be  dissipated  as  the  mist  before 
the  sun. 

Granty,  my  head  is  better.  Long  rays  of 
westering  light  are  filling  the  room.  I  hear 
Lionel's  step.  I  will  be  happy.  He  is  coming 
along  the  passage.  He  has  paused  at  the  door. 
My  heart  is  beating  tumultuously  ...  he  has 
passed  along. 

August  5th. — I  have  been  riding  most  of  to 
day.  The  weather  is  cooler  and  we  have  had 
little  showers  of  rain.  I  am  now  quite  at  home 
in  the  saddle.  When  I  was  preparing  for  my 
first  lesson,  I  was  warned  by  Lionel  not  to  seize 
the  horse  by  the  mane  in  moments  of  excite 
ment.  Naturally  this  annoyed  me  and  so  put 
me  on  my  mettle  that  I  mastered  the  whole  art 
of  riding  in  a  very  short  time.  And  I  love 
it.  You,  having  ridden  so  much  in  Australia, 
well  know  the  exhilaration  of  galloping  along 

166 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

springy  turf  on  a  good  mount.  And  my  mare 
is  a  beauty:  graceful,  lithe,  swift,  mettlesome, 
only  her  name  spoils  her — Elizabeth.  Can  you 
imagine  the  order  of  mind  that  christens  a 
horse  Elizabeth?  It  emanated  from  the  groom, 
a  heavy,  trustworthy,  stout  man,  who  accom 
panies  me  on  my  rides.  His  name  is  Shrove 
Tuesday  Wilkinson.  Needless  to  mention  he 
was  born  on  pancake  day. 

With  Elizabeth  and  Shrove  Tuesday  I  went 
to  Richmond  Park  this  morning.  I  felt  bad 
everywhere — body,  soul  and  spirit.  Only  wind, 
untainted  by  smoke,  born  of  the  bracken  and 
trees  and  fields,  would  help  to  ease  the  ache 
of  me,  I  felt.  Lionel  and  I  were  still  at  enmity 
though  I  longed  for  peace.  We  breakfasted 
practically  in  silence.  To  all  my  little  overtures 
of  friendship  he  turned  a  deaf  ear,  presenting 
to  me  the  top  of  a  neatly  parted  head  as  he 
studied  his  newspaper.  I  had  passed  an  almost 
sleepless  night.  I  heared  12,  1,  2,  3,  4  o'clock 
strike.  Between  the  hours  of  12  and  2  I  still 
felt  remorseful  for  my  discourtesy  to  Lady 
Eivers,  and  grieved  that  I  had  hurt  and  offend 
ed  Lionel  so  much.  I  ached  to  get  up  and  tap 
at  his  door  and  tell  him  I  was  sorry,  and  that 
if  he  would  just  give  me  one  kiss  of  forgiveness 

107 


GWENDA 

I  should  be  able  to  get  to  sleep.  But  pride  kept 
my  head  glued  to  my  hot  pillow.  Then  I  began 
to  turn  and  twist  about  like  a  meat-jack  in  front 
of  a  fire.  My  blue  ribbon  tickled  my  face  and 
I  tore  it  off,  my  heavy  plait  tickled  the  back 
of  my  neck  and  I  pinned  it  up  on  top.  I  turned 
my  pillow  in  unison  with  my  body,  and  each 
side  seemed  hotter  than  the  last.  I  counted 
sheep  through  a  gate  and  repeated  "  if  a  herring 
and  a  half  weighed — "  and  I  couldn't  get  any 
further  for  I  had  forgotten  what  they  ought 
to  weigh,  and  tried  so  hard  to  remember  that 
I  began  to  cry.  I  cried  till  I  was  exhausted,  and 
then  I  began  to  be  hungry  and  I  think  that  is 
the  last  and  worst  stage  of  wakefulness.  Once 
you  are  assailed  by  hunger,  no  more  sleep  till 
it  is  satisfied.  Longingly  I  thought  of  glasses 
of  milk,  bread  and  butter,  of  cool  greengages 
and  oranges.  I  switched  on  the  light,  rose 
noiselessly  and  searched  the  room  for  food.  A 
well-trained  maid,  such  as  Fanchette,  would  be 
certain  to  leave  a  tin  of  biscuits  handy,  but  she 
hadn't.  She  thought  only  of  the  clothing  of  my 
body,  not  of  its  nourishment.  I  could  wear  a 
tulle  busby  and  die  of  starvation.  Martha,  with 
the  smooth  brown  hair,  I  felt,  would  never  have 
neglected  to  place  sustenance  at  my  bedside. 

1G8 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

I  could  have  wept  again  from  disappointment. 
Suddenly  my  roving  eyes  caught  the  beautiful 
sight  of  a  box  of  Turkish  delight  which  reposed 
at  the  corner  of  the  mantelshelf.  You  probably 
have  never  used  Turkish  delight  very  spongy 
and  very  nutty  as  a  food  to  allay  the  pangs  of 
your  hunger  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  You 
have  never  fastened  your  teeth  into  its  ad 
hesive  softness  when  the  rest  of  the  world  was 
sleeping.  If  you  haven't,  don't,  because  next 
morning  you  will  wish  you  hadn't.  You  would 
have  preferred  risking  a  descent  to  the  larder 
and  the  possibility  of  falling  into  the  hands  of 
your  butler  who  had  mistaken  you  for  a  burglar. 
As  I  stared  at  the  parting  of  Lionel's  hair 
and  toyed  with  a  bit  of  sole,  that  Turkish  de 
light  was  very  present.  My  mouth  was  dry,  my 
body  was  limp.  Feverishly  I  searched  about 
for  pleasant  conversation.  I  tried  the  weather, 
the  theatre,  the  new  fashion  in  men's  overcoats, 
the  cultivation  of  tobacco  in  England,  but  the 
bent  head  never  looked  up,  and  I  received  mon 
osyllables  by  way  of  reply  to  each  of  my  ques 
tions.  Gradually  my  pleasantries  fizzled  out, 
and  slowly  my  temper  rose,  slowly  but  surely ; 
and  once,  Granty,  you  said  it  was  sweet.  Why 
should  I  be  treated  in  this  manner?  I  fumed. 

169 


I  had  done  and  said  everything  to  express  my 
sorrow  for  my  inhospitality.  I  longed  to  be 
friends.  Longed  to  thresh  the  whole  thing  out, 
and  this  cold  silence  was  freezing  me,  choking 
the  love  out  of  me.  I  jumped  up  from  my  chair, 
kicked  Shandy  out  of  the  way,  told  Balbriggan 
to  give  instructions  for  my  horse  to  be  saddled 
and  round  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  dashed 
out  of  the  room,  giving  the  door  a  terrific  bang. 
What  do  you  think  of  that?  Banged  the  door 
like  a  passionate  uncontrolled  schoolgirl.  Even 
now  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  the  way  the  table 
silver  would  jump  about  under  Lionel's  nose. 

Fanchette  wished  me  to  wear  my  hard  hat. 
I  waved  her  to  one  side.  "  My  soft  cap  and  no 
other,"  I  shouted,  and  she  was  dumb  from  sur 
prise.  I  met  Lionel  as  I  descended  the  stairs  in 
a  whirl.  He  stared  at  me  blankly.  "  Where 
are  you  going?  "  his  lips  framed  the  words,  but 
I  took  them  out  of  his  mouth :  "  Don't  ask  me 
where  I  am  going.  I  haven't  decided,  perhaps 
to  perdition,"  and  I  shot  out  of  the  house. 

Within  an  hour  I  was  in  Eichmond  Park  tear 
ing  across  the  springy  turf,  Shrove  Tuesday 
making  manful  efforts  to  keep  up  with  me. 
"  Stop,"  I  cried  at  last,  "  your  horse  is  winded. 
You  wait  here,  I  want  to  be  alone."  And  leav- 

170 


GWENDA 

ing  him  there,  I  turned  along  to  the  right  guid 
ing  Elizabeth  through  some  fine  beech  trees  to 
a  path  amongst  high-growing  bracken,  along 
which  she  delicately  picked  her  way.  Presently 
coming  to  a  quiet  spot — a  little  slopy  piece  of 
green  turf  surrounded  by  thorn  trees — I  dis 
mounted,  and  fastening  Elizabeth  to  one  of  the 
trees  I  wandered  on  a  few  yards  further  and 
then  flung  myself  face  downward  amongst  the 
sweet-scented  bracken.  How  long  I  lay  there 
I  hardly  realised.  The  day  was  windy  and  cool 
and  I  knew  it  not.  There  had  been  some  rain 
early  in  the  morning,  but  I  was  hardly  con 
scious  that  the  damp  pungent  bracken  was  wet 
ting  my  face  and  hands.  I  had  stumbled  upon 
the  first  real  trouble  of  my  life,  and  I  desired 
to  be  alone  in  some  quiet  place,  with  only  the 
gray  sky  to  look  down  upon  me  and  my  suffer 
ing.  For,  of  course,  I  was  suffering.  I  loved 
my  husband  and  he  refused  to  speak  to  me,  and 
he  had  aroused  a  great  soreness  and  anger  in 
my  heart  toward  him  which  frightened  me.  I 
could  not  understand  his  attitude.  I  am  always 
ready  to  make  friends  five  minutes  after  a 
quarrel  with  anyone,  and  he  had  been  sulking 
with  me  for  nearly  forty-eight  hours.  I  had 
expressed  sorrow  for  having  annoyed  him,  I 

171 


GWENDA 

had  humbled  myself  before  him,  and  it  is  never 
a  pleasant  job  kissing  the  dust,  and  he  still  re 
garded  me  with  stony  indifference.  Tennyson's 
lines  came  to  my  mind :  "  Oh,  we  fell  out,  my 
wife  and  I,  and  kissed  again  with  tears."  And 
kissed  again  with  tears !  Should  we  ever  do 
that?  Keason  told  me  "no."  We  might  kiss, 
but  not  with  tears.  To  kiss  with  tears  is  re 
served  only  for  the  Elect  in  the  Kingdom  of 
Love.  And  somehow  through  and  through  me 
I  knew  that  I  was  not  of  that  Elect  Company. 
Many  can  laugh  in  unison,  but  few  can  both 
laugh  and  weep. 

Granty,  you  will  say  I  am  becoming  intro 
spective,  and  you  warned  me  against  it ;  but  as 
I  lay  there  dissecting  fronds  of  the  bracken, 
sniffing  at  its  scent,  I  went  through  the  weeks 
of  our  married  life,  reviewed  my  conduct,  and 
examined  my  love  to  see  if  it  had  been  found 
wanting.  Do  you  remember  one  spring  after 
noon  a  few  months  back,  as  we  were  picking 
kingcups  in  Water  Marsh,  that  you  remarked 
that  as  soon  as  a  human  being  examines  and 
probes  into  and  dissects  and  measures  its  love, 
love  begins  to  prepare  for  flight.  Love  is  a 
sensitive  plant,  and  when  rooted  from  the 
ground  and  examined  under  a  microscope  shriv- 

172 


els  and  dies.  Love  is  an  undefinable  quality, 
it  cannot  be  analysed  as  a  chemist  analyses 
beer  or  oil.  "  If  you  begin  to  wonder  if  you 
love  or  are  loved  enough  there  is  something  the 
matter.  Love  is  a  gift  of  the  Gods,  accept  it 
as  such,  and  don't  worry."  Do  you  remember 
saying  that?  And  then  you  went  on  to  say: 
"  but  if  you  find  that  a  day  comes  when  it  droops 
a  little  through  the  strong  and  pitiless  intimacy 
and  trials  of  matrimony,  water  it  with  kindness 
and  understanding,  and  if  it  should  still  droop, 
give  it  more  water  diluted  with  sympathy  and 
a  great  forbearance.  And  if  all  this  and  other 
treatment  fail,  root  it  up,  for  it  is  only  cumber 
ing  the  ground  and  not  worth  further  considera 
tion;  stamp  out  its  feeble  life,  and  turn  your 
attention  and  affection  to  some  object  more 
worthy.  A  man  or  a  woman  who  ruins  his  or 
her  life  in  endeavouring  to  retain  the  affection 
of  the  other  is  a  fool.  Life  is  too  short  for 
regrets." 

Water  it  with  kindness  and  forbearance  and 
sympathy  and  a  great  understanding !  I  jumped 
to  my  feet.  Once  again  I  would  try — I  would 
invest  in  the  very  largest  watering-pot  —  a 
watering-pot  of  unknown  dimensions — height, 
width,  depth  —  Lionel  should  see  that  it  was 

173 


GWENDA 

limitless.  "  A  watering-pot  as  big  as  the  Uni 
verse,"  I  shouted,  laughter  falling  from  my 
lips,  and  turning  toward  Elizabeth,  I  found 
Shrove  Tuesday  seated  on  his  horse  like  a 
statue  of  bronze,  and  regarding  me  with  re 
spectful  gravity. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  "  I  demand 
ed,  picking  bits  of  fern  from  my  habit. 

"  Nigh  on  half  an  hour,  Madame." 

"  But  I  told  you  to  remain  where  you 
were." 

"  Master  said  I  must  be  very  careful  with 
you  and  not  let  you  out  of  my  sight,  Madame." 

"  Did  he  say  that?  "  I  know  the  pleasure  and 
gratification  in  my  voice  simply  shouted. 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"  Oh,"  I  walked  toward  Elizabeth.  "  Did  you 
happen  to  hear  anything  I  said?  " 

"  Nothin*  particular,  Madame." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  Only  something  about  a  watering-pot  as 
big  as  the  universe,  Madame."  He  looked  a 
little  ashamed  of  proclaiming  my  foolishness. 

I  laughed  gaily.  "  A  funny  thing  to  say.  But 
I  happen  to  possess  such  an  article,  and  I  am 
going  to  fill  it  to  the  brim  with  all  kinds  of 
useful  qualities  mentioned  in  a  certain  Book — 

174 


GWENDA 

to  be  exact,  in  the  Beatitudes;  handy  useful 
things,  such  as  patience  and  kindness  and  sym 
pathy,  everything  but  meekness.  I  don't  like 
meekness,  reminds  you  of  a  piece  of  pastry  that 
has  been  flattened  out  by  a  rolling-pin." 

"  Yes,  Miss  —  Madame."  Shrove  Tuesday 
coughed  deferentially  behind  his  hand. 

"  You  can  put  me  on  Elizabeth  now." 

He  dismounted  and  offered  me  his  hand. 

"  And  I  may  tell  you  in  confidence  that  I  am 
starving  with  hunger.  I  am  sure  it  must  be 
three  o'clock." 

"  It  has  just  gone  one,  Madame." 

"  Only  one !  Now  do  you  know  of  any  place 
within  a  mile  of  this  spot  where  we  could  get 
lunch? " 

"No,  Madame." 

"You  are  depressing,  Shrove  Tuesday.  Do 
you  see  that  small  house  at  the  end  of  this 
valley  on  the  other  side  of  the  pond  ? " 

"  That  is  Ham  Lodge,  Madame." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  we  could  get  lunch  at  Ham 
Lodge?  The  name  sounds  hopeful,"  I  asked. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Never  did  I  meet  a  more  pessimistic  spirit. 
You  should  have  been  christened  Ash  Wednes 
day.  Shrove  Tuesday  sounds  too  light  hearted 

175 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

on  account  of  its  association  with  pancakes.  I 
am  going  to  Ham  Lodge  to  see  what  can  be 
done.  Please  follow  me." 

Delicately  and  carefully  the  horses  picked 
their  way  through  the  high  bracken  along  the 
little  path  to  the  Lodge.  To  the  right  was  a 
sleepy  pond.  Behind,  in  the  distance,  was  the 
beautiful  course  of  a  golf  links.  In  front  of 
the  little  house  lay  an  ancient  collie.  Painted 
in  white  letters  on  the  garden  wall  were  these 
words :  "  Teas  for  cyclists."  At  the  gate  was  a 
man  in  uniform  with  sad  blue  eyes  and  a  gold- 
laced  cap. 

"I  see  that  you  give  teas  to  cyclists,"  I 
started  pleasantly. 

"  Perhaps  we  do,"  he  replied  doubtfully. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  give  lunches  to 
horse-women? " 

He  shuffled  inside  the  little  gate,  "  I  will  ask 
my  wife." 

"  But  you  must  know  without  asking  your 
wife,"  I  said. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  seemed  to  think  he 
didn't. 

"Mrs.  Huggins,"  he  called  gently. 

"  Yes,  George,"  returned  a  voice,  "  what  are 
you  wanting  now?  Always  worritin'  round." 

176 


GWENDA 

"  It's  a  young  lady  wanting  lunch." 

Mrs.  Huggins  appeared  at  the  doorway,  a 
magisterial  figure  with  a  hooked  nose.  She 
shook  her  head  firmly,  she  didn't  give  lunches. 

"  Oh  dear,"  I  cried,  "  couldn't  you  manage 
just  a  bit  of  bread  and  cheese?  " 

Another  shake. 

"  But  I  am  so  terribly  hungry,  and  I  do  so 
fancy  lunch  in  the  Park." 

Marked  indifference  to  any  of  my  fancies. 

"  Well,"  suddenly  I  brightened,  "  early  tea. 
Could  you  give  me  some  tea  with  a  nice  fresh 
egg?"  I  was  preparing  to  slip  down  from 
Elizabeth. 

"  I  have  a  fresh  egg,  but  I  never  boil  my 
kettle  before  half  past  three  in  an  afternoon," 
she  returned. 

"  What,  never?  "  I  said,  surprised. 

"  By  which  I  mean,  never  between  breakfast 
and  tea." 

"  Dear  me ! "  I  observed. 

"  I  lets  the  fire  out  in  summer,  and  boils  the 
potatoes  on  Beatrice — that's  the  oil  stove,  for 
dinner  at  half  past  twelve,  and  then  boils  the 
kettle  ready  for  cyclists  at  half  past  three." 

"  But  couldn't  you  light  the  stove  again  for 
once! " 

177 


GWENDA 

"  No,  it's  against  my  habits." 

"  And  wouldn't  you — say,  if  you  had  to  make 
a  poultice  for  your  husband  ?  " 

"  He  never  wants  a  poultice." 

"  But  supposing  he  did,"  I  persisted. 

"  He's  not  likely  to  as  long  as  he's  married 
to  me.  Is  you,  George  ?  " 

George  shuffled  his  feet  on  the  gravel  path  a 
little  uneasily.  "  It's  rheumatiz  as  I  have, 
Miss." 

"  You  see,"  she  said  with  triumph.  "  He 
wants  no  poultices;  it's  Elliman's  Embrocation 
as  what  he  wants  for  the  rheumatics." 

"  And  you  couldn't  under  any  consideration 
whatsoever,  not  in  a  case  of  storm  or  famine  or 
sudden  death,  boil  your  kettle  before  half  past 
three  ? "  I  pleaded  in  a  coaxing  voice. 

"  None  of  these  things  is  likely  to  happen," 
she  returned,  regarding  the  heavens  with  the 
eye  of  a  skipper. 

"  But  famine  is." 

"  Kingston  isn't  above  two  miles  from  here, 
neither  is  Eichmond.  You  can  get  a  grand 
lunch  at  either  of  them,"  observed  this  unshak 
able  woman. 

"  But  two  miles  will  take  us  such  a  time  to 
cover,  and  I'm  literally  starving,"  I  said,  mak- 

178 


GWENDA 

ing  one  last  effort.  "  And  there  is  nothing  in 
the  whole  world  I  desire  more  at  this  moment 
than  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  boiled  brown  egg.  I 
can  see  your  fowls  at  the  back  and  I  know  they 
lay  brown  eggs." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  They've  never  laid 
a  brown  egg  in  their  lives,  has  they  George? 
They're  mostly  Minorcas,  and  they  always  lay 
white  eggs." 

Then  my  hopes  evaporated  entirely,  and 
crushed  in  spirit  I  was  preparing  to  ride  away 
when  George  himself  interceded  for  me. 

"  /  could  light  Beatrice,"  he  suggested  hesitat 
ingly,  "and  boil  the  kettle  and  egg  for  the 
young  lady,  Mrs.  Huggins." 

"  You  could  light  Beatrice ! "  Mrs.  Huggins 
cast  her  eyes  up  to  Heaven  as  though  calling 
down  a  witness  to  the  words  of  her  spouse. 
"  You've  just  found  out  you  could  light  that 
stove  when  I've  been  persuading  of  you  to  make 
the  effort  for  nigh  on  ten  years.  And  you  could 
boil  an  egg!  You  could  do  something  besides 
stand  at  these  here  gates  in  a  gold  laced  cap 
by  day,  and  sit  in  your  dressin'  gown  with  the 
girdle  and  tassel  in  the  best  armchair  readin' 
your  paper  of  a  night.  Mr.  Huggins  you  aston 
ish  me.  You'll  be  able  to  procure  brown  eggs 

179 


GWENDA 

next,  I  suppose,  to  gratify  the  young  lady's 
fancy.  I'll  bid  you  good-day,  Miss.  I'm  that 
overcome  that  I  must  go  and  sit  down  to  get 
my  breath."  And  Mrs.  Huggins,  her  hands 
clasped  across  her  capacious  apron,  sailed  into 
the  house. 

For  a  moment  I  feared  to  meet  the  gaze  of 
Mr.  Huggins'  sad  blue  eyes.  How  crushed  he 
would  feel,  how  humiliated !  Supposing  Lionel 
should  ever  address  me  in  such  a  manner  in 
the  presence  of  strangers !  I  was  wondering 
how  I  could  slip  half-a-crown  into  the  hand 
of  this  outraged  husband  without  looking  at 
him,  when  I  heard  a  chuckle,  and  actually 
found  that  Mr.  Huggins  was  winking  broadly. 
"  A  fine  woman,  my  wife,"  he  whispered  as 
his  hand  closed  over  the  money.  "  Good-day, 
Miss." 

Thoughtfully,  I  rode  out  of  the  Park  and 
across  the  Common.  Reflectively  I  made  for 
Kingston  Market  Place.  It  appeared  there 
were  more  ways  than  one  of  managing  a  hus 
band.  And  that  Mr.  Huggins  admired  and  re 
spected,  and  possibly  even  loved,  his  wife,  I  had 
not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  I  felt  greatly 
cheered.  If  all  the  Beatitudes  failed,  I  would 
imitate  Mrs.  Huggins. 

180 


GWENDA 

August  6th. — And  I  was  like  Mrs.  Huggins 
for  exactly  five  minutes,  and  then  Lionel  said 
he  thought  a  little  change  to  Silvercombe,  after 
all,  might  do  me  good,  as  evidently  there  was 
something  seriously  the  matter  with  me;  and 
he  would  run  over  to  Ostend  for  a  fortnight  or 
so,  and  he  was  sure  I  should  be  glad  to  miss  the 
passage  seeing  I  was  such  a  wretched  sailor. 
He  said  several  other  things  as  well,  but  I 
scarcely  heard,  I  was  fighting  so  hard  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  So,  Granty,  like  a  little  child 
I  am  dismissed  and  am  coming  home.  You 
predicted  there  would  be  breakers  ahead,  and 
I  have  foundered  in  the  first.  But  I  am  not 
going  to  squeak;  do  not  fear  that. 

Ever  lovingly, 

GWENDA. 


181 


LETTER   X 

GLENFINLAS  HOUSE,  THE 

THOSSACHS,  Aug.  25. 
MY  DEAR  GRANTY  : 

Such  a  long  long  journey  and  I  arrived  at 
Callander  last  evening  weary  and  travel-stained. 
Your  prognostication  was  correct.  Lionel  met 
me  and  greeted  me  affectionately,  but  I  felt 
shy  and  awkward,  and  found  myself  regarding 
him  curiously  during  the  lovely  drive  from  Cal 
lander  to  Glenfinlas.  But  he  was  quite  at  ease. 
Nothing  was  said  of  our  late  estrangement,  and 
he  made  no  reference  to  his  not  having  written. 
He  had  enjoyed  Ostend,  and  hoped  that  I  had 
had  a  pleasant  time  at  Silvercombe.  He  en 
quired  after  you,  and  remarked  that  I  still 
looked  pale  and  seedy.  His  behaviour  during 
the  evening  was  friendly  and  polite.  He  kissed 
me  good-night  at  my  bedroom  door  and  —  I 
sobbed  myself  to  sleep.  Of  course  I  did,  and 
I  am  not  ashamed  of  it.  I  am  not  made  of  the 
same  stuff  as  you.  I  loved  Lionel  once,  and  I 
believe  I  still  love  him.  Where  did  you  find 

182 


GWENDA 

your  strength?  In  your  pink  shawl  with  your 
wonderful  white  hair  and  pinky  cheeks  you  look 
like  a  gentle  baby.  You  might  be  composed  of 
satin  and  rose  leaves.  I  think  I  alone  know 
of  your  inflexible  will,  of  your  strong  loves  and 
fiercer  hates,  of  your  sense  of  justice,  and  pity 
of  an  angel. 

This  evening  I  am  better.  A  dumb  resent 
ment  and  pride  have  come  to  my  aid,  and  I  am 
trying  to  remember  all  you  advised.  Out  of 
your  own  suffering  you  have  learned  a  greater 
wisdom  than  Solomon  ever  preached.  And  to 
think  that  I  lived  with  you  all  those  years  and 
never  knew,  never  guessed,  what  you  had  been 
through.  You  played  dolls  with  me  when  I  was 
a  child,  and  when  I  grew  up  you  walked  and 
talked  and  read,  and  still  played  with  me.  You 
fought  down  your  sorrow,  and  I  believe  you 
grew  to  be  happy.  As  you  said  to  me  the  other 
night,  a  great  many  of  us  suffer  through  our 
own  faults,  so  why  be  always  whining?  It  is 
ridiculous  for  a  man  or  a  woman  to  expect  to 
be  happy  when  they  have  married  for  love — 
love  in  the  sense  that  means  passion  only. 
What  they  should  strive  after  is  the  love  that 
means  friendship,  as  well  as  passion.  That  is 
the  only  perfect  love.  "  Did  you  consider  this 

183 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

when  you  married  Lionel?  "  you  asked.  "  Had 
you  any  tastes  in,  common1?  You  love  books. 
Does  he?  He  loves  Society  and  show.  Do  you? 
Are  you  real  friends  and  companions?"  At 
the  time  I  was  unable  to  reply  to  your  ques 
tions,  Granty.  I  had  not  been  looking  at  the 
position  from  Lionel's  point  of  view,  and  I 
wanted  to  be  fair.  I  had  been  pitying  myself 
only.  I  had  been  inclined  to  regard  myself  as 
a  martyr.  Even  in  my  sorrow  for  my  treat 
ment  of  Lady  Rivers  and  consequent  annoyance 
to  Lionel  there  was  an  enormous  amount  of 
sympathy  for  my  own  self-abnegation.  Your 
questions  have  made  me  honest  with  myself.  I 
think  I  am  seeing  things  with  a  truer  sense  of 
proportion.  I  have  come  away  from  Silver- 
combe  better  and  happier  than  I  went  to  it.  I 
feel  as  though  I  had  been  cleansed  and  in 
vigorated  by  a  strong  wind  which  had  blown 
across  a  wide  salt  ocean,  or  over  fields  of  golden 
corn  or  limitless  moors.  I  am  mentally  stimu 
lated,  if  not  bodily.  I  came  here  prepared  to 
do  almost  anything,  to  laugh  and  to  be  merry 
as  of  old,  to  be  an  entertaining  companion,  to 
cast  sentimentality  to  the  winds,  no  reproaches, 
no  repinings  after  what  I  couldn't  get,  just  to 
be  a  sensible,  practical,  affectionate  woman; 

184 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

and  Lionel's  politeness,  his  calm  indifference 
have  hemmed  me  in  and  about  and  crushed 
me  as  with  closing  blocks  of  ice.  What  am 
I  to  do  now?  What  course  am  I  to  adopt? 
Shall  I,  too,  be  indifferent  and  polite.  I  be 
lieve  I  could  stoop  to  anything,  play  any  role 
in  order  to  win  back  the  affection  of  my 
husband. 

To-night,  I  am  wearing  a  dream  of  a  new 
gown.  I  wrote  and  ordered  it  from  Town.  It 
is  white  chiffon  posed  over  cloth  of  silver.  Even 
Fanchette  is  in  ecstasies.  And  in  my  hair  will 
be  a  spray  of  white  heather.  It  was  presented 
to  me  to-day  by  a  dear  old  gillie,  and  I  am  wear 
ing  it  for  luck.  Will  it  bring  me  any? 

To-morrow  I  will  tell  you  of  our  host  and 
fellow  guests,  and  of  this  beautiful  old  house 
and  place.  I  could  be  so  happy. 

August  27. — The  white  heather  brought  me 
no  luck.  But  what  matters?  I  am  fighting 
after  philosophy ;  and  as  the  poet  sang :  "  The 
world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things."  And 
it  is  very  full  in  this  lovely  corner  of  Scotland. 
To  begin  with  it  contains  our  host,  one  Alex 
ander  or  Sandy  McAlister,  a  most  delightful 
and  extremely  Scotch  person.  A  bachelor,  mid- 
185 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

die  aged  in  years,  but  so  youthful  that  you 
almost  wonder  at  the  restraint  of  his  friends  in 
refraining  from  presenting  him  with  pop-guns 
and  trains;  and  but  for  his  great  height  and 
long  flowing  beard,  and  still  longer  moustachios, 
which  droop  like  two  cascades,  I  believe  they 
would.  His  Scotchiness  and  beard  are  the  two 
most  pronounced  features  about  him.  He  sim 
ply  runs  over  with  the  former,  it  bursts  from 
him  at  every  pore;  and  you  can  see  that  only 
the  natural  delicacy  of  his  feeling  and  kind 
liness  of  his  heart,  prevent  him  from  openly 
commiserating  with  you  on  your  English  an 
cestry,  while  you  are  conscious  that  he  is  re 
garding  you  with  a  sort  of  pity  out  of  the  tail 
of  his  eye. 

You  may  admire  his  fine  old  house  set  in  a 
very  lovely  bit  of  the  Trossachs  above  Loch  Ach- 
ray;  you  may  rave  about  the  mist  curling  and 
creeping  above  the  corries  and  crags  of  Ben- 
venae,  and  of  the  fairy  dream-like  scenery  of 
Loch  Katrine;  but  you  are  not  of  it,  you  are 
not  part  of  it,  you  are  not,  so  to  speak,  one 
with  it.  You  are  an  alien  in  a  foreign  land. 
You  are  a  product  of  an  English  town  or  sleepy 
English  village.  You  were  not  born  of  the 
mountains  and  lochs,  and  rolling  mists,  and 

186 


glooming  skies,  and  bold  rocky  defiles  and  rush 
ing  mountain  torrents.  You  were  not  hushed 
to  sleep  as  was  Uncle  Sandy  McAlister  by  the 
sound  of  a  mighty  cataract— 

"Whose  waters  their  wild  tumult  toss 

Adown  the  black  and  craggy  boss 

of  that  huge  cliff " 

(This  from  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake") 

You  were  not  cradled  in  the  arms  of  Loch  Ach- 
ray,  with  its  calm  peace — 

"The  rocks,  the  bosky  thickets  sleep 
So  stilly  in  the  bosom  deep." 

Once,  many  years  ago,  you  and  I  read  "  The 
Lady  of  the  Lake  "  aloud,  but  I  had  forgotten 
it.  Why,  oh  why,  did  I  not  look  it  up,  re 
fresh  my  memory  with  its  witching  silvery 
lines  before  coming  to  visit  Uncle  Sandy  Mc 
Alister? 

I  believe  he  was  prepared  to  like  me  at  first. 
He  gave  me  friendly  pats  on  the  shoulder  with 
his  large  hairy  hand,  he  called  me  his  dear  niece 
by  marriage,  Mrs.  Gwenda.  He  played  a  bag 
pipe  for  my  edification,  and  one  by  one  the 
other  guests  hid  themselves  in  various  secluded 

187 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

parts  of  the  house.  All  was  going  well  till  yes 
terday  afternoon  when  he  took  me  alone  to 
Loch  Katrine.  We  walked,  and  the  way  was 
heavenly:  a  dell  of  rocks  and  ferns,  and  more 
rocks  and  ferns  reaching  higher  and  higher  till 
the  road  was  cast  into  one  of  slumbrous  gloom, 
cool  and  sweet-scented,  with  little  threads  of 
water  gushing  from  the  rocks.  So  peaceful,  so 
restful,  no  motors  allowed  in  this  enchanted 
country,  the  lochs  and  the  streams,  the  moun 
tains  and  the  mists,  the  rocks  and  ferns,  the 
sheep  and  wild  fowl  have  it  all  to  themselves. 
Suddenly  we  emerged  from  the  shadow  to  the 
sunshine,  and  Loch  Katrine  lay  smiling  before 
us.  And  it  was  then,  through  my  ignorance,  I 
missed  the  opportunity  of  twining  myself  round 
Uncle  Sandy's  heartstrings.  It  was  then  I 
should  have  quoted  the  famous  lines,  it  was  the 
proper  place,  the  suitable  moment.  Uncle  Sandy 
looked  at  me  anxiously.  He  started  the  first 
line,  he  prompted,  he  waved  his  arm  compre 
hensively  around  the  lake  to  give  me  courage, 
but  it  was  of  no  avail.  All  I  could  do  was  to 
sit  down  and  weep  at  the  beauty  that  lay  before 
me,  weep  and  laugh  at  one  and  the  same  mo 
ment.  And  then  patting  my  shoulder,  he  him 
self  declaimed  the  lines: 

188 


GWENDA 

"With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay 
And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright, 
Floated  amid  the  livelier  light, 
And  mountains,  that  like  giants  stand 
To  sentinel  enchanted  land." 

But  I  knew  he  was  disappointed  in  me.  He  was 
still  kind  and  full  of  information.  He  showed 
me  Ellen's  Isle,  and  told  me  her  story,  for  now 
he  had  tapped  my  ignorance  to  its  depths.  But, 
in  his  secret  heart,  I  think  he  was  debating 
why  Lionel  had  married  me.  So  two  of  us  are 
now  cogitating  about  the  same  matter,  and  per 
haps  even  three. 

When  we  got  back  a  maid  brought  to  my 
room  a  copy  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  "  in  a 
tartan  cover,  with  her  master's  compliments. 
And  before  going  down  to  dinner  I  mean  to 
commit  some  of  the  opening  verses  to  memory. 
I  want  Uncle  Sandy  to  love  me.  Soon,  I  fear, 
he  will  begin  to  talk  to  me  about  Robert  Bruce, 
and  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  and  Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  Robert  Burns,  the  Massacre  of  Glen- 
coe  and  Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  So  will  you  send 
me  by  return  of  post  my  History  of  Scotland? 
I  feel  so  glad  I  know  a  little  about  Steven 
son  and  his  works,  and  that  his  father  or 
grandfather  built  lighthouses — useful  thing  to 

189 


GWENDA 

know  that.  I  shall  start  on  R.  L.  to-night, 
and  carelessly  touch  upon  his  beautiful  re 
quiem:  "Under  a  wide  and  starry  sky  ..." 
and  that  may  put  me  straight  over  "  The  Lady 
of  the  Lake." 

Now  for  the  guests.  I  have  still  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before  Fanchette  comes  to  worry  me 
with  her  endless  talk  of  hair  frames.  She  ac 
tually  brought  one  here — an  evil-looking  thing 
of  hair,  shaped  like  a  bolster,  and  when  I  burnt 
it  real  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  I  was  sorry  for 
her  distress,  and  it  appeared  she  would  have 
liked  it  for  herself,  as  her  own  was  getting  thin 
in  the  middle  and  a  new  one  cannot  be  procured 
in  the  Trossachs  and  she  is  a  bit  eprise  with 
the  Boots  at  the  hotel  half  a  mile  away.  I  asked 
her  how  she  had  become  acquainted  with  him, 
and  she  said  she  had  met  him  in  a  cornfield 
above  Loch  Achray.  She  was  admiring  the 
moon  and  so  was  he;  they  were  quite  distant, 
sitting  against  separate  corncocks,  when  she 
was  suddenly  bitten  by  an  awful  harvest  bug 
and  set  up  a  shrill  scream  as  the  creature  was 
running  up  her  sleeve,  and  naturally  the  Boots 
rushed  across  to  help  her  to  catch  it,  and  when 
they  had  run  it  to  earth,  he  still  more  naturally 
remained  at  her  side  to  admire  the  moon  with 

190 


a  W  E  N  D  A 

her.  "  It  is  lonely,"  she  added,  "  staring  at  the 
moon  by  yourself,  and  Monsieur  le  Boots  is  a 
most  perfect  gentleman,  Madame." 

So  Fanchette  will  be  contented  to  be  here  for 
a  little  while,  and  will  cease  to  moan  at  the 
noise  of  the  sheep  and  lambs  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning. 

A  Mr.  Colin  Elder  moans  too  at  the  noises 
of  the  night,  of  the  cry  of  wild  birds  flying  over 
the  Loch.  I  mention  him  first  because  he  is  an 
Art  Student  of  great  earnestness  and  immense 
aspirations.  Haven't  you  always  imagined  all 
earnest  Scotch  students  as  embryo  ministers 
with  kirks  and  manses  ahead?  I  had,  so  this 
Art  one  came  as  a  surprise.  He  is  much  more 
advanced  than  the  Glasgow  or  any  other  school, 
and  believes  that  true  Art  is  only  to  be  found 
in  the  North.  I  had  but  known  him  for  five 
minutes  when  he  quoted  something  from  Laf- 
cadio  Hearn;  do  all  Scotch  people  quote  on 
every  possible  occasion?  This  is  what  he  said: 

"  I  do  not  wonder  the  South  has  produced 
nothing  of  literary  art.  Its  beautiful  realities 
fill  the  imagination  to  repletion.  It  is  regret 
and  desire  and  the  spirit  of  unrest  that  pro- 
voketh  poetry  and  romance.  It  is  the  North, 
with  its  mists  and  fogs  and  its  gloomy  sky 

191 


GWENDA 

haunted  by  a  fantastic  and  ever-changing  pan 
orama  of  clouds,  which  is  the  land  of  imagina 
tion  and  poetry." 

And  I  said :  "  Surely  that  refers  to  writing 
only  ? "  And  he  closed  his  eyes  and  said,  "  I 
do  not  agree  with  you.  Art  is  always  Art." 

"  But  think  of  the  painters  of  the  South,"  I 
persisted,  and  he  refused  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind. 

And  when  a  man  is  very  young  and  earnest 
it  is  always  best  to  let  him  have  his  own  way. 
He  wears  a  soft  unbleached  linen  shirt  with  a 
turned-down  collar,  which  exposes  an  extremely 
large  Adam's  apple,  and  a  Bernard  Shaw  tie 
with  long  ends.  Uncle  Sandy  admires  him  very 
much,  but  confided  to  me  that  he  was  the  de 
spair  of  his  father,  a  practical,  rich  man  who 
builds  ships. 

Miss  Haddo  is  a  very  lively  girl,  with  freckles 
and  blue  eyes.  I  think  she  would  be  interested 
in  Colin  Elder  if  he  hadn't  the  misfortune  to 
hail  from  Glasgow.  She  herself  is  Edinburgh, 
and  it  appears  the  capital  city  thinks  very 
meanly  of  the  manufacturing  one,  and  vice 
versa.  Isn't  it  funny? 

Mr.  Gow  is  a  man  with  a  dome-like  head,  very 
bald  and  so  bumpy  that  you  feel  you  would  like 

102 


GWENDA 

to  iron  it  out.  He  says  "  Come  away  now,"  more 
often  than  anything  else,  and  slumbers  imme 
diately  after  dinner. 

Mrs.  Gow  is  interested  in  Scottish  industries 
and  the  manufacture  of  Harris  tweeds.  She 
has  certain  weaknesses.  If  you  so  much  as 
refer  in  the  most  casual  way  to  the  author  of 
"  The  Unspeakable  Scot,"  she  swallows  furi 
ously  and  becomes  purple  in  the  face. 

Uncle  Sandy  seems  specially  devoted  and  at 
tentive  to  a  dear  old  Aunt  of  his,  who,  you 
know,  would  look  sweet  in  a  mutch.  As  it  is 
she  wears  a  plaid  shawl  with  a  fringe,  not  so 
becoming  as  your  best  pink  one  with  bobs, 
neither  is  she  so  pretty  as  you. 

And  this  brings  me  up  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bran 
son —  Americans,  with  whom  Uncle  Sandy 
scraped  acquaintance  once  at  the  Trossachs 
hotel,  on  overhearing  them  say  that  in  their 
opinion  Scott's  monument  was  the  finest  in 
Europe.  Uncle  Sandy  strolls  down  to  the  hotel 
once  a  day,  immediately  after  the  arrival  of 
the  first  coaches  from  Callander  en  route  for 
Loch  Lomond.  A  handsome  figure  he  cuts  as 
he  walks  along  the  road,  beard  and  mustaches 
flowing,  tall,  broad-shouldered,  a  Scot  to  his 
finger  tips.  How  he  has  restrained  himself 

193 


GWENDA 

from  wearing  a  kilt  I  cannot  imagine.  Osten 
sibly  he  goes  for  a  chat  with  the  dear,  old  pro 
prietress,  Mrs.  McDonald,  but  really  to  feast  his 
patriotic  soul  on  the  admiration  expressed  by 
the  visitors  for  the  exquisite  scenery  spread 
before  them.  He  carelessly  strolls  about  as  they 
stand  in  groups  in  front  of  the  hotel  and  drinks 
in  all  their  expressions  of  praise.  Later,  at 
lunch,  he  retails  their  remarks  to  his  guests, 
beaming  with  pride,  and  once  when  I  ventured 
to  say  that  he  might  have  had  a  hand  in  the 
creation  of  his  country,  he  replied,  quite  seri 
ously,  that  if  he  had  he  couldn't  have  made  a 
better  job  of  it.  You  would  like  Uncle  Sandy 
I  know,  Granty.  His  absolute  simplicity,  his 
honesty  and  his  kindness  command  your  love 
as  well  as  your  respect.  I  would  like  to  kiss 
him.  I  wonder  whether  he  would  think  it  a 
liberty  if  I  did.  He  holds  my  two  hands  in  his 
two  immense  ones  when  I  bid  him  good-night, 
and  it  would  be  so  easy  to  put  up  my  face  to  his 
if  I  stood  on  tip-toe. 

The  Bransons  are  pleasant  people,  not  too 
twangy  and  not  too  tiresomely  proud  of  the 
U.  S.  A.  He  has  a  nanny-goat  beard,  just  like 
one  of  Winston  Churchill's — the  American  Win 
ston  Churchill — judges.  Mrs.  Branson,  what- 

194 


GWENDA 

ever  the  weather — wears  a  mackintosh  and  rub 
bers.  I  think  her  mean  opinion  of  the  Scotch 
climate  vexes  Uncle  Sandy,  for  he  often  refers 
with  sympathetic  pity  to  the  heat  waves  and 
snow  storms  and  blizzards  of  her  country. 

In  this  motely  assemblage,  I  am  at  home  and 
as  happy  as  I  can  be.  But  Lionel  is  bored  un 
utterably,  I  can  see  it  in  every  line  of  his  face, 
in  his  irritation,  in  his  wide  yawns  at  night, 
and  I  ask  myself,  why  did  he  come?  The  shoot 
ing  is  middling,  the  fishing  bad — for  the  season 
has  been  so  dry — and  the  bridge  worse.  Could 
he  have  come  to  this  lovely  country  for  my 
sake  f 

August  30th. — Granty,  I  am  lonely,  lonely.  I 
feel  within  me  that  all  is  over  between  us,  and 
yet  I  am  still  fighting.  And  why  do  I  fight? 
For  I  know  that  the  battle  is  over,  finished, 
ended,  and  it  is  foolish  to  fight  when  one  is 
defeated. 

Lionel  said  a  few  weeks  back  that  his  love 
for  me  had  been  a  brief  unconsidered  passion 
of  an  hour.  Perhaps  it  was  kind  to  tell  me  this, 
and  at  any  rate  he  was  straightforward — one 
hour,  and  I  must  accept  the  fact  that  my  hour 
is  ended.  It  is  hurting,  deathly  wounding  to 

195 


GWENDA 

my  pride,  but  must  be  faced,  and  I  keep  repeat 
ing  to  myself: 

"That  moving  Finger  writes;   And  having  writ; 
Moves  on :  nor  all  thy  Piety  nor  wit 
Shall  lure  it  back  to  cancel  half  a  line, 
Nor  all  thy  tears  wash  out  a  word  of  it." 

Those  lines  so  fantastic,  so  deeply  pathetic, 
I  say  over  and  over  again,  whilst  striving  after 
the  philosophy  and  calm  resignation  of  the 
Persian  poet  of  old.  And  perhaps  some  day  I 
shall  attain  them,  and  let  them  come  soon,  for 
I  am  nearly  broke,  is  the  wish  of  your 

GWENDA. 

We  scarcely  speak  to  one  another,  or  see 
one  another;  and  sometimes  I  find  myself  won 
dering  if  I  really  am  married. 


196 


LETTER   XI 

GLENFINLAS  HOUSE,  THE 

TROSSACHS,  Sept.  4th. 
MY  DEAR  GRANTY: 

Two  very  pleasant  things  have  come  to  pass 
since  I  last  wrote  to  you.  Instantly  you  will 
conjecture :  "  They  have  made  up  their  quarrel. 
They  are  friends  once  more."  But  no.  My 
husband  is  polite  to  me,  fairly  friendly,  and 
sometimes  kind  when  Uncle  Sandy  is  present, 
for  Uncle  Sandy  likes  me,  I  believe — I  can  now 
repeat  thirty  verses  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake," 
and  have  got  up  to  the  song :  "  Soldier,  rest !  thy 
warfare  o'er,  Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not 
breaking — "  And  our  kiss  is  an  accomplished 
thing.  I  am  not  sure  whether  Uncle  Sandy  or 
I  made  the  first  advance,  I  hope  it  was  Uncle 
Sandy. 

No,  Lionel  and  I  are  as  far  apart  as  the  poles. 
And  while  these  miles  and  miles  lie  between  us, 
which  I,  alone,  am  unable  to  bridge,  I  must 
learn  to  find  my  pleasure  and  peace  in  some 
other  quarter. 

197 


GWENDA 

And  the  first  pleasant  news  I  have  to  impart 
is  that  September  has  arrived.  And  you  will 
reply,  "  So  it  has  in  Silvercombe.  You  haven't 
got  it  all  to  yourself."  But  a  September  in 
Silvercombe  cannot  hold  a  candle  to  a  Septem 
ber  in  the  Trossachs.  You  will  have  the  peace, 
the  mellow  sunshine,  the  yellowing  trees,  the 
dewy  cobwebs,  the  hazy  mists  that  this  fairest  of 
the  months  brings ;  but  you  haven't  great  sweeps 
of  purple  heather  on  every  side  of  you  stretch 
ing  away  into  space,  purple  heather  splashed 
with  the  gold  of  the  gorse,  heather  and  gorse, 
gorse  and  heather — over  which  the  little  wild 
bees  hum  from  morning  till  night — a  carpet  of 
such  colouring,  of  such  texture,  of  such  fragrant 
sweetness  that  you  hold  your  breath  and  tread 
gently  for  fear  that  many  of  its  beauties  shall 
escape  you.  You  haven't  the  mournful  blue  lochs 
and  mountains,  so  serene,  so  quiet,  so  majestic 
ally  reposeful  in  the  calm  of  these  windless  days. 
The  whole  a  symphony  of  purple  and  gold  and 
blue  by  day,  and  violet,  and  gray  and  silver 
by  night.  Gray  when  the  divine  mist  rises  and 
creeps  along  the  edge  of  the  lochs,  and  curls 
around  the  mountains  shrouding  them  in  a  va 
porous  garment ;  violet  when  the  night  descends 
and  with  it  a  touch  of  frost  which  clears  away 

198 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

the  mist,  and  silver  when  the  moon  climbs  up 
into  the  sky  and  as  with  a  magic  wand  touches 
the  cornfields  above  Loch  Achray — beloved  of 
Fanchette  and  Monsieur  le  Boots — and  the  slim 
trunks  of  the  little  birches  standing  spectre- 
like  at  the  end  of  the  garden. 

A  fairy  world,  and  yet  so  sad.  So  sad  that 
I  stand  at  my  window  at  night,  and  the  tears 
course  down  my  cheeks  as  I  watch  the  moon 
beams  playing  hide  and  seek  in  the  rushes  and 
across  Benvenue  and  down  in  the  valley,  and  I 
listen  to  the  heartbreaking  cry  of  the  snipe  and 
wild  duck  and  other  creatures  of  the  night.  And 
I  creep  back  to  bed  with  cold  feet,  and  some 
times  that  pain,  I  had  when  with  you  last  month, 
visits  me,  a  dull  sickly  pain,  not  sufficiently 
acute  to  warrant  my  arousing  Fanchette  in  the 
next  room,  but  sufficiently  bad  to  render  me 
miserable  and  sleepless.  What  can  it  be?  I 
wonder,  and  try  to  put  it  from  me  as  I  lie  and 
think  of  you  and  old  Hannah,  and  Uncle  Sandy, 
and  the  haunting  beauty  of  this  place.  It  must 
be  that  I  am  depressed,  for  I  never  felt  beauty 
hurt  before  as  it  hurts  here,  and  Mr.  Peter 
Drexel  feels  it  in  the  same  way.  Oh,  that  is 
my  other  pleasant  bit  of  news,  he  and  the  Pren- 
dergasts  are  staying  at  the  hotel.  The  Prender- 

199 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

gasts  come  every  year,  and  Uncle  Sandy  knows 
them  quite  well.  Mr.  Peter  has  come  to  fish, 
because  he  cannot  keep  away  from  Scotland,  he 
says,  once  his  holidays  begin.  He  tries  other 
places,  but  always  returns. 

I  am  so  glad  they  are  here.  Mrs.  Prender- 
gast  is  charming  and  amusing,  and  Mr.  Peter 
is  so  nice.  I  can  find  no  other  word  to  fit  him. 
Just  nice,  with  his  thin  clever  face  and  humour 
ous  gray  eyes.  Uncle  Sandy  called  on  them 
soon  after  their  arrival,  and  he  told  me  that 
they  had  expressed  great  pleasure  on  hearing 
that  I  was  staying  at  Glenfinlas. 

"And  did  they  mention  Lionel?"  I  asked, 
"  and  say  they  would  be  glad  to  see  him?  "  My 
heart  beat  a  little  quickly  as  I  put  the  ques 
tion,  for  instinctively  I  knew  that  Mr.  Peter 
disliked,  if  not  hated,  my  husband.  I  saw  it 
in  his  eyes  that  night  in  the  conservatory.  I 
noted  the  look  of  dismay,  almost  of  horror, 
which  crept  into  his  face  on  hearing  that  I 
was  Mrs.  Lionel  Conyngham,  and  the  ab 
rupt  way  in  which  he  walked  out  as  Lionel 
walked  in. 

"  They  said  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied 
Uncle  Sandy  a  little  curtly,  "  in  fact  his  name 
was  never  mentioned.  You  seem  to  be  the 

200 


GWENDA 

prime  favourite.  That  Drexel  chap  fairly  hung 
on  my  words  as  I  spoke  of  you." 

"  And  did  you  say  nice  things  ? "  A  little 
thrill  of  pleasure  ran  through  me  on  hearing 
that  anybody  should  care  sufficiently  about  me 
as  to  ask  after  me.  I  was  beginning  to  feel 
that  only  you  loved  me,  Granty. 

"  Did  I  say  nice  things  ?  "  He  laughed,  and 
gave  me  one  of  his  fatherly  friendly  pats :  "  I 
am  not  going  to  tell  you  what  I  said  Mrs. 
Gwenda,  for  fear  of  turning  your  head." 

"  You  could  never  do  that,"  I  cried,  "  be 
cause — "  I  stopped  abruptly.  In  another  sec 
ond  he  would  have  known  all,  known  of  my 
failure  as  a  wife,  known  of  my  humiliating  dis 
covery  that  I  could  hold  a  man  for  one  hour — 
one  brief  hour,  and  no  longer. 

"Well?"  he  queried. 

"Because,  because — old  Hannah,  Granty's 
old  servant—  I  stammered  and  floundered 
about  helplessly. 

"  Yes  ? "  his  voice  was  gentle.  I  think  he 
noticed  my  embarrassment  and  wanted  to  help 
me.  "  Old  Hannah  took  advantage  of  her  posi 
tion  as  an  old  and  valued  servant  and  spoke 
plainly  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  That's  it.  She  used  to  say  horribly  rude 
201 


GWENDA 

and  unkind  things.  She  once  likened  me  to  a 
scarecrow  that  stood  in  a  field  at  the  back  of 
our  garden.  And  another  time  she  mentioned 
that  I  resembled  a  clothes-prop.  I  certainly 
was  weedy  in  those  days.  But  it  was  not  my 
appearance  alone  that  excited  her  pity,  but  the 
worthlessness  of  my  character.  She  compared 
me  with  every  wicked  and  immoral  person  in 
the  Bible.  One  day  it  was  Jael,  and  another 
Ananias,  and  a  third  Lot's  wife.  Lot's  wife 
more  frequently  than  any  other ;  and  for  years 
I  was  in  deadly  terror  that  I  should  be  turned 
into  a  pillar  of  salt.  She  predicted  I  should 
be,  and  I  believed  her  until  I  was  twelve  years 
of  age." 

"Poor  little  girl,"  muttered  Uncle  Sandy, 
and  then  taking  my  hand  in  his,  and  without 
looking  at  me,  he  said :  "  And  now  instead  of 
old  Hannah's  depressing  observations,  you 
have  your  husband's  adulation,  eh!  He  says 
all  the  pretty  things,  gives  you  all  the  admira 
tion  a  nice  wife  deserves,  is  it  not?" 

And  my  answer  seemed  a  long  time  in  com 
ing,  and  when  it  came  I  think  it  surprised  Uncle 
Sandy  as  much  as  it  surprised  me,  for  I  said 
"  Yes."  And  a  recording  Angel  entered  up  the 
lie,  and  may  have  wept  a  little  thereat. 

202 


GWENDA 

September  7th. — I  am  having  my  breakfast 
in  bed,  or  supposed  to  be  having  it.  A  piece  of 
sole  and  an  egg  reposing  on  a  tray  look  at  me 
invitingly.  The  egg  wears  a  ridiculous  flannel 
cock's  head  (with  an  embroidered  red  comb 
and  eye),  presumably  to  keep  it  warm,  but 
neither  an  egg  hot  or  cold  nor  a  piece  of  sole 
tempt  my  appetite.  I  am  what  is  called  '  not 
well.'  Nothing  the  matter  with  me  really,  just 
poorly  and  tired  and  disinclined  to  get  up.  Dis 
inclined  to  do  anything  but  write  to  you,  and 
it  doesn't  seem  like  writing,  for  all  the  time  I 
feel  you  are  sitting  close  to  me,  and  I  am  just 
talking,  talking  as  I  used  to  talk  in  the  old  days, 
and  you,  with  a  smile  on  your  face,  listening  to 
your  little  girl. 

Are  you  tired  of  listening  to  me,  Granty 
dear?  I  hope  you  are  not,  for  this  unburden 
ing  of  my  soul  to  you  is  what  keeps  me  going. 
I  am  one  of  those  poor  creatures  who  cannot 
stand  alone.  If  I  fall  and  hurt  myself  I  want 
somebody — Granty  for  choice — to  help  me  up 
and  rub  the  sore  places.  If  I  weep,  I  want 
somebody  to  wipe  away  the  tears,  if  I  laugh  I 
want  the  world  to  laugh  with  me.  I  have  no 
strength  of  character,  I  am  not  self-reliant. 

Why  are  you  tired  and  poorly?  you  will  ask. 
203 


GWENDA 

Or  are  you  really  only  lazy?  Perhaps  a  little 
of  both.  But  what  makes  me  lazy?  I  never 
used  to  be  like  this.  There  was  a  time  when 
you  tied  me  into  a  chair  to  keep  me  still.  Later, 
you  bribed  me  with  all  sorts  of  nice  things  if 
I  would  remain  quiet  for  half  an  hour.  You 
likened  me  to  a  piece  of  quicksilver.  I  couldn't 
stay  in  bed  after  six  o'clock  on  lovely  summer 
and  autumn  mornings.  Now  my  heart  sinks 
when  I  hear  Fanchette  knocking  at  the  door. 
And  I  have  had  that  pain  again,  and  am  begin 
ning  to  get  frightened.  It  came  on  last  even 
ing.  The  Prendergasts  invited  us,  Lionel  and 
me,  to  dine  with  them  at  their  hotel.  I  sug 
gested  that  we  should  walk.  I  don't  want  to 
miss  a  moment  of  out  of  doors  while  we  are 
here.  Soon  we  shall  be  returning  to  Town. 
Uncle  Sandy  invited  us  for  a  fortnight,  and 
that  is  already  up.  Now  he  says  we  must  stay 
another  week,  and  I  was  amazed  when  Lionel 
said  that  we  should  be  very  pleased.  "  We 
might  as  well  be  bored  here  as  well  as  anywhere 
else,"  he  explained  to  me  afterward.  "  Town 
will  still  be  pretty  empty,  and  the  watering 
places  abroad  at  this  time  of  the  year  are 
rotten."  And  I  am  only  too  contented  that  he 
should  will  it  so. 

204 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

He  was  much  against  accepting  the  Prender- 
gasts'  invitation  for  last  night.  He  doesn't 
like  Mrs.  Prendergast.  He  says  she  appears  to 
be  always  making  fun  of  a  chap,  and  as  for  her 
beastly  brother,  why  couldn't  he  stop  at  home 
raking  in  fees  from  credulous  patients  and 
fleecing  people  of  a  hundred  guineas  for  opera 
tions  that  were  not  necessary. 

"  How  dare  you  say  such  things  ?  You  know 
they  are  not  true,"  I  cried.  "  And  surely  Mr. 
Drexel  deserves  a  holiday  more  than  most  peo 
ple.  He  looks  tired,  and  thin,  and  worn.  The 
man  is  nearly  worked  to  death,  Mrs.  Prender 
gast  says,  and  Scotland  is  the  only  country 
that  soothes  his  tired  nerves  and  mind,  and 
at  the  same  time  braces  up  his  body.  Don't 
go  to-night  if  you  prefer  remaining  at  home. 
I  shan't  object,  in  fact  I  should  like  to  go 
alone." 

And  he  stared  at  me  in  such  blank  amazement 
that,  though  I  was  angry,  I  had  much  ado  to 
keep  from  laughing. 

But  he  went.  Why  I  am  unable  to  say.  Cer 
tainly  not  to  please  me.  Possibly  from  con 
trariness,  because  I  said  I  didn't  want  him 
to  go. 

The  evening  was  beautiful.  A  little  mist 
205 


GWENDA 

hung  over  the  mountains  and  crept  along  the 
valley;  a  soft  gray  mist  that  did  not  conceal 
but  rendered  more  lovely  the  rugged  mass  of 
Benvenue.  Loch  Achray  gleamed  palely  from 
its  encircling  reeds  and  rushes.  The  only  sounds 
that  broke  the  stillness  were  the  munching  of 
the  cows  and  sheep  in  the  meadows,  and  the 
boom  of  the  big  flying  moths,  and  the  ever  re 
curring  cry  of  the  water  fowl. 

And  as  we  walked  side  by  side  talking  com 
mon-places  in  indifferent  non-committal  voices, 
suddenly  a  great  sadness  overwhelmed  me.  My 
anger  had  gone,  only  a  great  longing  swept 
through  me  that  Lionel  should  take  me  in  his 
arms  as  of  old  and  hold  me  to  his  breast,  that 
all  the  misunderstanding  and  indifference  that 
had  arisen  between  us  should  be  wiped  out. 
That  he  would  be  honest  with  me,  and  tell  me 
through  what  cause  had  I  lost  his  affection, 
and  what  I  could  do  to  regain  it.  "  Lionel,"  I 
cried  on  a  sudden  impulse,  "  I — "  then  the 
words  I  had  meant  to  say  died  on  my  lips.  Rea 
son  swiftly  forbade  me  to  plead  with  him. 
"  That  is  not  the  way,"  it  whispered.  "  No  man 
was  ever  won  by  tears  and  entreaties.  They 
vex  and  irritate  him.  Be  proud  and  indifferent. 
That  is  your  only  chance." 

206 


GWENDA 

"  Yes  f  "  He  was  looking  at  me,  waiting  for 
me  to  continue. 

"  Oh — nothing,"  I  stammered.  "  Isn't,  isn't 
the  evening  lovely!  " 

"  Not  particularly.  I  don't  like  these  misty 
nights,"  he  returned.  "But,"  he  looked  at  me 
searchingly,  "  I  suppose  the  near  prospect  of 
meeting  Peter  Drexel  makes  everything  couleur 
de  rose." 

I  turned  and  regarded  him  in  surprise. 
"  Perhaps,"  I  said  indifferently.  "  I  like  Mr. 
Drexel  better  than  I  like  a  great  many  people, 
you  know." 

"  That  is  only  too  apparent,"  he  said  with 
a  sneer. 

"  In  what  way?" 

"  In  every  way." 

"  I  am  glad  if  that  is  so,  for  when  you  like 
people  I  think  it  is  nice  to  let  them  know  it," 
I  said  quietly. 

"  It  is  not  nice  when  a  man  is  single  and  a 
woman  is  married.  The  man  might  expect  too 
much." 

"How  dare  you?"  I  cried  furiously.  "Be 
cause  you  are  my  husband,  it  does  not  give  you 
the  right  to  insult  me." 

"  I  am  your  husband,  as  you  say,  and  it  does 
207 


GWENDA 

give  me  the  right  to  warn  you.  You  went  fish 
ing  yesterday  with  Drexel  from  eleven  in  the 
morning  till  five  in  the  evening."  He  hit  sav 
agely  at  a  thistle. 

"  And  it  was  the  pleasantest  day  I  have  spent 
for  months.  Mr.  Drexel  is  kind  and — a  gentle 
man.  That  you  appear  to  forget.  The  Pren- 
dergasts,  who  were  with  us,  and  that  you  also 
appear  to  have  forgotten  or  perhaps  you  did 
not  know,  are  amusing  and  sympathetic  com 
panions,  and  also  kind  beyond  words.  They 
thought  I  looked  ill.  They  were  anxious  to  give 
me  a  pleasant  day  on  the  lake — you  were  shoot 
ing.  I  only  hope  they  will  ask  me  again.  I— 
I—  I  had  to  stop  because  my  voice  was  break 
ing,  and  suddenly  I  went  sick  and  ill.  Stum 
bling  to  a  bank  I  sat  down,  and  fought  against 
the  nausea  and  pain  which  was  overtaking  me. 

"What  is  the  matter?  "  he  asked. 

I  shook  my  head.  "  I  don't  know.  I  have  had 
a  good  deal  of  pain  lately  and  I  don't  know 
what  it  is.  It  will  pass  soon  for  this  is  not  a 
severe  attack,"  I  replied. 

"Pain?"  He  looked  at  me  incredulously. 
"  How  long  have  you  had  it?  " 

"  All  through  the  summer  very  slightly,  but 
nothing  worth  speaking  of,  more  uneasiness 

208 


GWENDA 

than  anything  else.  But  at  Granty's  I  had  a 
rather  severe  attack,  and  I  have  had  two  or 
three  here.  That  is  all."  I  spoke  a  little  curtly, 
for  I  was  too  hurt  and  angry  with  him  to  wish 
to  excite  or  receive  his  sympathy. 

"  It  can't  be  anything  very  bad  or  you 
wouldn't  be  about.  Women  give  in  so  quickly." 

"  No,  it's  not  very  bad,  and  I  shall  be  ready 
in  a  minute  or  two  to  go  on.  And  I  do  not 
agree  with  you  that  women  give  in  quickly.  I 
think  they  have  wonderful  powers  of  endur 
ance,"  I  said. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  back  ?  And  I  will  go 
on  and  explain,"  he  grumbled. 

"  I  wouldn't  miss  this  evening  for  worlds," 
I  returned.  "  I  have  looked  forward  to  it  for 
twenty-four  hours."  Perhaps  I  said  this  from 
maliciousness.  But,  as  you  know,  I  am  a  very 
human  girl  and  I  felt  miserable  and  ill. 

I  was  foolish  to  go  on,  but  somehow  I  dreaded 
going  to  bed  and  being  alone  with  my  own 
bitter  thoughts.  I  longed  to  be  in  the  Prender- 
gasts'  and  Mr.  Peter's  cheerful  society,  to  hear 
their  talk  and  gay  laughter,  to  listen  to  their 
conversation  of  books  and  places,  politics  and 
poetry.  They  spoke  of  other  things  besides 
people,  entertainments  and  games — what  you 

209 


GWENDA 

and  I  used  to  call  "  the  beyond  things,"  which 
are  so  infinitely  more  interesting.  It  may  not 
bring  one  any  nearer  to  the  solving  of  the  riddle 
of  the  universe — whence  we  came  and  where  we 
are  going — to  conjecture  about  it,  but  it  is  a 
more  absorbing  topic  of  conversation  than  a 
football  match,  or  than  that  Mrs.  FitzSimmons 
has  gone  in  for  a  new  shade  of  auburn  hair  for 
the  approaching  Season. 

So  I  struggled  on,  and,  if  on  our  arrival  they 
noticed  that  I  looked  seedy — and  I  am  afraid 
I  did,  for  as  we  passed  from  the  lounge,  with  its 
tall  mirrors,  to  the  diningroom,  I  caught  sight 
of  the  reflection  of  my  own  white  face — they 
said  nothing.  Only  unkind  people  reflect  on 
your  appearance  when  you  are  not  at  your 
best,  and  women,  I  am  afraid,  are  the  worst 
offenders  in  this  respect. 

The  diningroom  at  the  Trossachs  hotel  alone 
brought  me  pleasure,  for  the  windows  are  like 
stained  church  windows,  gothic  in  shape,  and 
the  walls  and  candle  shades  were  a  soft  red, 
and  on  each  small  table  a  blue  campanula  in  a 
hammered  silver  pot,  graceful  and  tall  reared 
itself  almost  to  the  ceiling.  Imagine  the  effect 
of  about  twenty  blue  campanulas  doing  this, 
each  one  seeming  anxious  to  outstrip  the  other. 

210 


GWENDA 

Old  Mrs.  McDonald  must  be  an  extremely  clever 
manager. 

The  dinner  was  good  and  well  served,  but  I 
had  little  appetite.  All  I  desired  was  a  basin 
of  bread  and  milk,  and,  naturally,  I  didn't  ask 
for  it.  Lionel  had  recovered  his  temper  and 
was  in  good  form.  He  looked  unusually  hand 
some,  and  I  found  my  eyes  resting  on  his  face 
with  a  curious  sort  of  satisfaction.  "Whatever 
else  he  may  be,  he  is  a  good-looking  animal,  and 
with  my  sensuous  love  for  anything  that  is 
beautiful  it  always  gives  me  pleasure  to  watch 
him.  I  like  looking  at  a  magnificent  lion,  or 
the  graceful  lithe  beauty  of  a  tiger,  but  I  don't 
love  them.  And  so  I  like  watching  Lionel,  and 
do  I  love  him!  I  asked  myself  this  question 
as  I  played  with  a  bit  of  grouse,  and  for  the 
first  time  since  I  knew  him  I  could  find  no  an 
swer.  Before  I  had  always  been  able  to  say 
Yes,  but  last  night  I  found  it  impossible.  And 
so  I  may  be  nearer  to  happiness  than  I  imagine. 
If  you  don't  love  a  man,  you  don't  care  tuppence 
about  his  indifference  to  you.  There  is  that 
satisfaction. 

I  turned  from  him  to  Mr.  Peter  and  uncon 
sciously  fell  to  watching  the  latter.  What  a 
contrast  were  the  two  men.  The  one — hand- 

211 


GWENDA 

some,  animal ;  the  other  —  plain,  intellectual. 
Mr.  Peter  has  no  good  features  but  his  kindly 
humourous  eyes;  his  mouth  is  wide,  his  nose 
long,  his  hair  nondescript  in  colour,  but  he  has  a 
strong,  good,  clever  face  and  an  arresting  per 
sonality. 

Granty,  it  gives  me  great  satisfaction  when 
I  reflect  how  much  more  sensible  and  clear 
headed  you  are  than  any  other  woman  in  the 
world.  A  fool  woman  would  say  that  I  was 
falling  in  love  with  Mr.  Peter  Drexel,  and  a 
man  without  much  understanding  of  a  woman's 
character  would  probably  say  likewise.  But 
you  do  not  say  and  imagine  absurd  improbabil 
ities.  You  know  that  it  is  only  a  few  months 
since  I  gave  my  love  and  myself,  every  bit  of 
me — body  and  soul — to  another  man's  keep 
ing.  And  because  he  doesn't  want  me  now, 
has  no  further  use  for  me,  I  am  in  no  mood 
to  offer  myself  to  anybody  else.  Before  I 
could  contemplate  such  an  eventuality,  my 
wounds  would  have  to  be  quite  healed,  the  sore 
ness  gone  from  my  spirit,  and  I  quite  ready  to 
start  afresh. 

Fanchette  is  here.  "Will  I  get  up,  or  will  I 
not?  she  asks.  The  hour  is  late.  Soon  lunch 
will  be  ready,  and  Mr.  McAlister  keeps  asking 

212 


GWENDA 

for  me.  Yes,  I  will  get  up  if  Fanchette  gives 
a  faithful  promise  that  she  will  not  try  to  make 
me  wear  a  new  pair  of  corsets  which  might 
have  been  fashioned  from  unbendable  or  un 
breakable  bamboo — not  iron,  because  that  has 
been  known  to  bend  under  pressure.  Nor  a 
new  gown,  nor  new  slippers,  nor  a  new  way  of 
doing  my  hair,  nor  new  anything,  because  I 
want  to  be  old  to-day,  old  and  comfortable  in 
loose  garments  and  no  figure.  With  few  hair 
pins  in  my  head,  and  no  bones  anywhere  but 
my  own.  Would  it  be  possible  to  wear  a  tea- 
gown?  Yes,  Fanchette  assures  me.  Every 
body  out  to  lunch  but  Mr.  McAlister  and  the 
old  lady  with  the  shawl,  and  neither  of  them  can 
see  properly. 

"Not  see?"  I  said  in  surprise. 

And  Fanchette  explained  that  as  they  both 
must  be  nearly  sixty  she  didn't  imagine  that 
they  could  see  very  well. 

Still  September  7th. — I  am  alone  in  my  bed 
room.  Fanchette  has  brushed  my  hair  and 
fixed  me  up  for  the  night  and  gone  to  bed.  A 
bright  little  fire  burns  on  the  hearth,  for  these 
nights  are  chilly  and  damp.  I  hold  my  feet, 
which  are  like  ice,  to  the  glowing  warmth,  and 

213 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

my  head,  which  is  like  fire,  I  lean  against  the 
cold  marble  of  the  mantelpiece. 

Downstairs,  away  in  the  library,  Lionel,  in 
a  softly  shaded  light,  is  making  love  to  Lady 
Eivers.  She  is  in  white,  and  is  looking  excep 
tionally  lovely. 

Fanchette  made  me  some  cocoa  before  she  left 
me  and  it  is  gently  simmering  on  the  hob.  Only 
my  bodily  discomfort  seems  to  affect  me  to 
night.  I  feel  much  keener  at  this  moment  on  a 
cup  of  cocoa  than  on  Lionel.  In  fact,  if  I  had 
to  make  my  choice  between  the  two,  I  should 
certainly  choose  the  cocoa.  It  may  be  that 
mentally  you  can  only  suffer  up  to  a  certain 
point,  then  the  body  begins  to  assert  itself. 

You  see  how  simple  was  the  answer  to  my 
question:  What  made  Lionel  come  to  Glenfin- 
las  I  To  humiliate  me.  Once  in  fight  I  worsted 
him.  Afterward  I  said  I  was  sorry,  but  he  ap 
parently  never  forgives.  And  the  cold  venge 
ance  of  this  man,  who  is  my  husband,  frightens 
me. 

It  happened  this  way:  We  were  having  tea 
in  the  hall  when  Lady  Eivers  arrived.  The 
Prendergasts  and  Mr.  Peter  were  with  us.  The 
hall  was  cosy  with  lamplight  and  firelight. 
Everybody  was  laughing  and  chatting,  and 

214 


GWENDA 

Uncle  Sandy  unusually  entertaining.  Lionel  was 
seated  near  to  me  on  an  old  settle,  and  suddenly 
he  took  my  hand.  I  cannot  describe  to  you  my 
se'nsations  at  this  simple  action.  It  was  so  un 
expected.  The  colour  rushed  to  my  face,  and 
my  heart  began  to  beat  in  a  mad  tumult  of 
doubt  and  pleasure,  but  chiefly  doubt.  It  was 
an  accident  I  told  myself,  he  was  unconscious 
of  what  he  was  doing;  but,  no,  he  looked  into 
my  eyes  and  pressed  my  hand.  There  could  be 
no  mistake.  And  then  like  a  silly  fool,  I  gave 
myself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  the  moment.  All 
my  anger,  and  hurt  pride,  and  bitterness,  van 
ished  in  a  flash.  He  had  come  back  to  me,  he 
still  loved  me.  Everything  was  forgiven  and 
forgotten.  My  hand  was  in  his,  that  was  suffi 
cient.  In  my  idiotic  delight  I  smiled  across  the 
room  at  Mrs.  Prendergast.  Everybody  must 
have  witnessed  my  pleasure  and  pride,  but  I 
cared  not.  Lionel,  my  husband,  had  returned 
to  me,  and — while  I  was  still  smiling  like  an 
easily  pleased  infant,  the  walls  of  my  new-found 
joy  tumbled  about  my  ears  with  a  crash,  leav 
ing  me  sick  from  the  shock  as  Lady  Rivers 
walked  smilingly  into  the  room. 

The  absolute  refinement  and  subtilty  of  my 
husband's  revenge  almost  calls  forth  my  ad- 

215 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

miration.  It  was  so  cunningly  planned,  the 
anti-climax  so  complete.  Only  a  master-hand 
at  cruelty  could  have  evolved  it. 

Poor  Uncle  Sandy,  dear  simple  Uncle  Sandy, 
and  stupid  unsuspicious  Gwenda!  She  was 
wondering  in  her  last  letter  to  you  how  her  hus 
band  could  support  the  dulness  and  loneliness 
of  such  an  isolated  quiet  place  as  Glenfinlas. 
She  even  suggested  the  possibility  of  its  being 
done  for  her  sake!  She  had  almost  forgotten 
the  existence  of  such  a  person  as  Lady  Elvers. 
It  never  entered  into  her  wildest  calculations 
that  such  a  person  might  descend  upon  Glen 
finlas,  and  that  kind  Uncle  Sandy  should  be 
duped  into  sending  her  a  pressing  invitation 
to  visit  him.  If  Lady  Rivers  was  a  friend  of 
Nephew  Lionel  and  Mrs.  Gwenda,  and  was 
stranded  with  nowhere  to  go — house  in  town 
in  the  decorator's  hands,  visit  to  country  house 
to  her  dearest  friends  upset  at  the  last  hour 
owing  to  a  visitation  of  measles  to  her  dearest 
friend's  children — why,  of  course,  she  must 
come  to  Glenfinlas.  The  house  was  large,  some 
of  the  guests  were  leaving,  beauty  in  distress 
always  touched  his  kindly  old  heart.  And  cer 
tainly  it  should  be  kept  a  secret  from  Mrs. 
Gwenda  if  Lionel  wished  it.  It  would  be  a 

216 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

pleasant  surprise  to  her  when  she  was  so  poorly 
and  tired,  etc.,  etc. 

And  the  surprise  was  so  great,  the  shock 
of  it,  that  in  the  first  moment  my  senses  reeled 
and  I  feared  I  should  break  down,  and  then — 
somehow,  Granty,  I  pulled  myself  together, 
strength  came  to  me,  and  I  rose  to  the  occasion. 
How  I  did  it  I  shall  never  know.  Lionel's  eyes 
were  upon  me.  Lady  Eivers  stood  in  front  of 
me — a  daintily  gloved  hand  was  held  out  to 
mine,  Uncle  Sandy  was  looking  at  me  happily 
triumphant,  I  was  conscious  that  the  Prender- 
gasts  and  Mr.  Peter  were  watching  me  curi 
ously,  and  then  I  spoke  calmly  and  with  great 
clearness,  and  without  a  break  in  my  voice: 
"  Uncle  Sandy  will  you  introduce  me  to  this — 
lady?  I  don't  know  her  in  Town,  but  here — 
she  is  your  guest." 

And  while  he  murmured  our  names,  amaze 
ment  and  stupefaction  written  on  every  line  of 
his  dear  face,  I  met  her  eyes  fearlessly,  un 
flinchingly,  a  little  smile  on  my  lips,  a  gracious 
condescension  in  my  bearing.  Then  motioning 
her  to  a  seat  at  my  side,  and  with  a  pleasant 
look  at  Lionel,  I  hoped  she  had  had  a  comfort 
able  journey  and  had  enjoyed  the  drive  from 
Callander,  and  how  she  must  be  longing  for 

217 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

some  tea.  And  as  I  spoke  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  tension  of  the  room  relaxed.  Mr.  Peter, 
who  had  been  standing,  sat  down.  Mrs.  Pren- 
dergast  helped  herself  to  a  piece  of  scone,  and 
Uncle  Sandy,  forgetting  to  introduce  her  to 
his  other  guests,  took  a  very  long  drink  of  tea. 
Only  Lionel  sat  immovable.  The  blank  aston 
ishment  of  his  countenance,  as  I  had  spoken, 
had  given  way  to  one  of  gloom  and  anger.  His 
carefully  arranged  little  game,  his  plan  of  at 
tack,  had  received  a  check.  It  was  his  turn  to 
make  the  next  move  for  my  complete  humilia 
tion  and  undoing.  Should  I  be  able  to  say 
checkmate  I 

Dear  one,  am  I  cruel  to  write  to  you  thus? 
Are  you  fretting  for  me,  shedding  tears  for  me, 
thinking  of  me  through  the  long  hours  of  the 
night?  Because  don't.  I  am  not  weeping.  My 
heart  feels  like  a  stone.  I  hardly  care.  To 
night  I  am  hating  Lionel,  so  that  is  better. 
When  you  have  arrived  at  hating  a  person  you 
have  loved,  you  are  on  the  fair  road  to  recovery. 
It  gives  me  no  pain  to  think  at  this  moment  of 
those  two  in  the  library.  If  Lady  Rivers  is 
clasped  in  my  husband's  arms  I  would  not  be 
in  her  place.  Would  not  have  her  fair  foul 
body,  and  still  fouler  mind.  She  is  beautiful, 

218 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

and  I  am  not.  Her  hair  is  warm  red  gold,  and 
mine  is  the  same  old  brown.  Her  skin  is  daz- 
zlingiy  fair  and  her  eyes  bright,  mine  are  dull 
with  suffering — not  suffering  of  the  mind,  but 
of  the  body.  We  think  nothing  can  be  worse 
than  the  pain  of  our  souls  till  our  bodies  begin 
to  hurt,  then  we  tell  another  story.  Write  to 
me  soon  Granty.  Send  me  one  of  your  cheerful, 
wise,  practical  letters.  Say  no  bad  things  of 
Lionel  for  that  will  be  no  help  to  me.  I  can 
say  them  myself,  think  them  myself.  But  tell 
me  what  I  am  to  do  in  the  future.  What  work 
I  shall  take  up,  how  I  shall  learn  to  support 
myself.  I  shall  leave  Lionel  as  soon  as  we  re 
turn  to  Town.  That,  of  course,  you  will  under 
stand  without  my  telling  you.  You  know  my 
views  on  the  subject.  To  me  it  is  the  most 
degrading  thing  in  life  for  a  woman  to  continue 
to  live  with  a  man,  to  be  kept  by  a  man,  when 
he  has  ceased  to  love  her — only  love  makes 
matrimony  holy—  And  there  is  only  one  ex 
cuse  for  a  woman  when  she  remains  in  such 
a  position,  one  excuse  only,  and  that  is  if  there 
are  any  children.  For  the  children  she  will 
make  any  sacrifice,  face  any  misery  and  humil 
ity  that  may  be  put  upon  her.  For  the  children 
she  will  find  strength  to  live  her  life.  But 

219 


where  there  are  no  children  and  she  still  re 
mains  simply  to  be  "  kept,"  when  she  bows  her 
head  to  a  daily  portion  of  insults  and  hard 
words,  when  she  cannot  find  the  strength  to 
face  the  laughter  or  jeers  and  pity  of  her 
friends  for  her  unsuccess  and  dismal  failure  as 
a  wife — for  the  world  always  blames  the  wom 
an — then,  I  say,  she  has  sunk  to  great  depths 
of  degradation. 

I  should  leave  Lionel  now,  go  back  to  London 
to-morrow,  but  for  bringing  sorrow  to  Uncle 
Sandy.  I  don't  want  him  to  know  of  the  failure 
of  our  marriage  before  I  can  help  it.  It  will 
grieve  him  beyond  words,  and  that  I  should 
take  such  a  step  in  his  house  would  prove  me 
lacking  in  all  consideration,  not  to  mention  af 
fection  for  him. 

Will  you  think  I  am  giving  in  too  soon?  Say 
that  I  should  have  tried  a  little  longer.  That 
I  have  no  patience  and  courage,  that  I  am  a 
feeble  knock-kneed  creature? 

Granty,  I  would  have  tried  till  the  breath  left 
my  body,  my  patience  should  never  have  been 
exhausted,  had  I  felt  that  there  was  the  slight 
est  chance  or  one  ray  of  hope  for  me.  But  I 
know  there  isn't — not  the  very  slightest.  For 
days,  weeks,  I  have  been  watching,  studying  my 

220 


GWENDA 

husband,  searching  for  the  weak  places  in  the 
armour  of  his  cold  indifference,  but  have  found 
none.  Other  husbands  have  their  little  mo 
ments  of  tenderness — I  have  detected  them  in 
them.  Mr.  Branson  spoke  irritably  the  other 
day  to  his  wife,  a  few  minutes  later  he  put 
a  footstool  to  her  feet,  and  laid  his  hand 
for  a  second  on  her  shoulder.  She  smiled  and 
thanked  him,  and  I  caught  the  look  of  under 
standing  between  them,  and  they  have  been 
married  for  twenty  years.  Mr.  Prendergast, 
much  as  he  adores  his  wife,  growled  because  she 
had  forgotten  to  see  that  his  fly  book  had  been 
packed.  She  expressed  great  penitence  for  her 
carelessness,  scolded  herself  for  her  forgetful- 
ness,  suggested  sending  a  wire  for  it  at  once, 
and  still  he  growled.  Later  on  it  was  found  at 
the  bottom  of  a  trunk,  but  long  before  that  I 
had  seen  him  fetching  her  her  salts  as  she  was 
suffering  from  a  headache,  and  fussing  round 
her  like  an  old  hen.  My  eyes  are  blinded  with 
tears  as  I  speak  of  these  things.  I  think  if 
Lionel  had  shown  me  just  a  little  kindness  and 
attention,  just  loved  me  ever  so  little,  I  would 
have  bartered  my  soul  in  the  next  life  for  him. 
He  could  have  stormed  at  me  till  he  was  black 
in  the  face  one  minute,  if  he  would  have  kissed 

221 


me  the  next.  I  would  have  always  forgiven. 
We  women  know  it  is  only  men's  little  way 
when  they  storm,  and  we  are  always  ready  to 
forgive.  But  now  it  is  too  late.  I  neither  want 
my  husband's  love  nor  his  kisses.  I  should 
feel  polluted  were  he  to  offer  them  to  me.  All 
I  desire  is  to  get  away  from  him.  To  hide  in 
some  hole,  to  pass  out  of  his  life  for  ever  and 
ever. 
All  my  love,  from  your  own  sorrowful 

GWENDA. 


222 


LETTER   XII 

GLENFINLAS  HOUSE,  THE 
TROSSACHS,  Sept.  14th. 
MY  DEAB  GRANTY : 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  been  in 
the  fashion! 

Empire  curls  running  all  over  your  head  like 
"  Maud's,"  you  conjecture. 

Wrong.  My  hair  at  this  moment  is  in  two 
pigtails,  and  not  very  tidy  at  that. 

A  Directoire  frock,  in  which  you  can  only 
stand,  not  sit? 

Still  wrong. 

A  hat  so  large  that  you  have  always  to  re 
move  it  before  getting  into  a  cab? 

What  do  you  take  me  for? 

You  are  learning  to  dance  a  cotillion? 

Granty,  I  am  nearly  always  in  pain. 

You  have  begun  to  smoke  Egyptian  cigarettes 
and  drink  brandies  and  sodas? 

I  might  like  to,  but  shouldn't  be  allowed. 

You  are  not  quick  or  clever  this  time  mine 
Great  Aunt.  I  thought  you  would  have  guessed 

223 


GWENDA 

at  once.  I  am  just  recovering  from  a  sharp  at 
tack  of  appendicitis.  Royalty,  nor  the  smartest 
of  the  smart  set  could  go  one  better.  And  this 
is  the  explanation  of  all  the  pain  and  nausea 
which  had  become  so  constant  of  late. 

And  I  have  enjoyed  it.  I  don't  mean  the 
pain,  but  the  being  tucked  away  in  bed  where  I 
could  hide  my  hurt  from  the  curious  eyes  of 
the  world.  Where  I  could  just  lie  with  my  own 
eyes  shut,  no  need  to  speak  or  smile  or  be  agree 
able,  or  play  a  part  which  in  its  difficulty  had 
become  almost  hellish — the  role  of  not  caring 
— not  caring  that  your  husband  and  another 
woman  were  making  love  to  each  other  in  front 
of  your  very  eyes.  Of  smiling  upon  them  when 
you  could  hardly  suppress  the  cry  of  anguish 
which  rose  to  your  lips,  of  sympathising  with 
them  and  almost  assisting  them  in  their  assig 
nations.  Of  being  sisterly  in  your  bearing  to 
ward  the  woman,  and  motherly  in  your  gentle 
kindness  toward  the  man. 

Granty,  it  was  so  difficult  that  I  was  near  to 
breaking  down  a  score  of  times,  but  God  or  the 
devil  helped  me ;  and  always  I  remembered  the 
words  of  your  last  letter :  "  Belinda  Ann  never 
let  them  know  her  suffering.  Her  pride  to  her 
was  as  a  coat  of  mail  to  a  warrior.  It  helped 

224 


GWENDA 

her  to  smile  upon  them  when  one  less  armed 
would  have  wept.  The  lovers  looked  at  each 
other  in  surprise.  '  Either  this  woman  is  a 
fool  or  she  doesn't  care,'  they  said.  And  in 
their  secret  hearts  they  thought  it  was  the  last, 
and  somehow  the  savour  went  out  of  their  love- 
making,  and  they  felt  small  and  childish  in  the 
presence  of  Belinda  Ann.  And  she,  though 
deeply  wretched,  hugged  one  small  consolation 
to  her  heart,  she  had  preserved  her  dignity  and 
her  pride.  She  had  never  pleaded  with  them, 
never  puled  or  whined,  and  in  the  end  she  ar 
rived  at  peace." 

And  in  the  end  she  arrived  at  peace !  Those 
words  were  prophetic,  and  they  have  come  true 
in  one  sense  of  their  meaning,  for  I  have  had 
the  peace  of  a  sick  room  these  last  few  days,  the 
gentle  dropping  of  the  cinders  on  the  hearth, 
the  subdued  voices  of  attendants  and  nurse,  and 
the  hush  of  their  walk  as  they  cross  the  room 
to  open  a  window.  And,  in  addition,  I  have 
been  surrounded  with  all  the  loving  care  of 
three  people,  and  you  will  guess  their  names: 
Uncle  Sandy,  Mrs.  Prendergast  and  Mr.  Peter 
Drexel.  Was  your  Belinda  Ann  as  fortunate? 

Matters  came  to  a  crisis,  or  I  should  say  my 
illness  did,  when  I  was  out  one  day  with  Uncle 

225 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

Sandy  in  the  dogcart.  He  had  driven  me  along 
the  banks  of  Loch  Vennachar — such  a  glorious 
drive.  I  felt  ill  when  we  started,  but  he  was  so 
wishful  that  I  should  go — I  had  declaimed  five 
more  verses  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake "  the 
previous  evening,  and  this  drive,  I  knew,  was 
meant  as  a  sort  of  reward — that  I  could  not 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  say  No.  All  went  well  at 
first,  then  gradually  the  horrid  pain  began  to 
attack  me — dully  at  the  beginning,  and  I  was 
able  to  enthuse  with  Uncle  Sandy  about  the 
loveliness  spread  before  us;  the  light  on  the 
yellow  leaves  of  the  birch  trees,  and  the  loch 
which  lay  like  a  sapphire  gem  in  an  amethyst 
setting  of  heather. 

But,  presently,  it  became  so  severe  that  I 
was  obliged  to  tell  him. 

"  111 ! "  he  cried  pulling  up  the  horse  so  ab 
ruptly  that  I  was  nearly  shot  out  of  the  cart. 
"  My  darling,  why  ever  didn't  you  say  so  be 
fore?  What  is  the  matter?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  smiling  at  his  con 
sternation.  "  I — am  in  great  pain.  It's  noth 
ing — I  mean  nothing  serious,  but  it  hurts  a  lot. 
Oh !  "  I  checked  a  groan,  "  If  you  drive  quickly, 
I  shall  be  able  to  hold  out." 

And  Uncle  Sandy  did  drive  quickly.  We 
226 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

should  have  been  run  in  if  we  had  been  seen  by 
a  policeman.  We  simply  swept  along  the  roads 
—perplexity  and  distress  written  on  every  line 
of  his  dear  face. 

"  It's  all  right,"  I  whispered,  as  we  just 
grazed  a  corner.  "  I've  had  it  before.  I'm  not 
going  to  die." 

"Had  it  before?  Does  Lionel  know?"  he 
asked. 

I  nodded. 

He  knit  his  brows  and  swore  beneath  his 
breath. 

"  And  he  has  not  made  you  see  a  doctor?  " 

"  We  are  so  far  away  from  one  out  here." 

"  There  is  Drexel." 

"  Lionel  thought  it  might  be  indigestion." 

"  And  he  had  no  right  to  think  it  was  indiges 
tion,"  shouted  Uncle  Sandy.  "What  does  he 
know  about  indigestion?  He  knows  as  much 
about  it,  I  expect,  as  I  know  of  sleeping  sick 
ness — damned  idiot !  Oh,  my  dear,  you  are  not 
going  to  faint.  I've  no  brandy — don't  faint. 
One  minute  longer,  Gwenda,  one  minute — we're 
nearly  there." 

"  Y-es,"  I  said,  and  as  we  tore  up  the  drive 
to  the  front  door  I  lost  consciousness. 

And  Mr.  Peter  has  attended  me,  and  he  and 
227 


GWENDA 

Mrs.  Prendergast  and  Uncle  Sandy  have  helped 
to  nurse  me,  looked  after  me,  sat  with  me,  read 
to  me,  talked  to  me.  Heaped  flowers  upon  my 
table,  and  told  me  funny  stories.  Done  every 
thing  in  their  power  to  liven  my  days  and  make 
me  forget  that  downstairs,  or  out  on  the  moors, 
Lionel  has  been  making  love  to  Lady  Rivers, 
or  Lady  Eivers  making  love  to  Lionel,  it  doesn't 
matter  which.  And  almost  have  they  succeeded 
in  their  efforts,  so  contented  and  happy  have 
I  been  with  these  three  friends.  I  have  listened 
with  amused  pleasure  to  Mrs.  Prendergast's 
quaint  and  witty  conversation.  I  have  laughed 
at  Uncle  Sandy  and  his  Scotch  sayings — few  of 
which  I  have  understood,  but  to  look  at  Uncle 
Sandy  is  to  laugh  when  you  are  in  the  mood; 
and  I  have  talked  to  Mr.  Peter — what  about  I 
am  unable  to  say,  but  he  has  seemed  to  like  to 
listen  to  me,  and  when  I  have  been  too  tired  to 
say  another  word,  he  suddenly  recollects  he  is 
my  medical  adviser,  and  not  only  scolds  himself 
but  scolds  me,  which  I  tell  him  is  mean. 

This  attack  has  given  way  to  treatment — and 
I  don't  wonder!  The  toughest  appendicitis 
would  surely  yield  to  such  boiling  poultices  and 
fomentations  and  hot  stoops.  I  feel  like  a 
scalded  rabbit.  Mr.  Peter  says  he  has  rarely 

228 


GWENDA 

seen  anyone  so  tiresome  about  taking  medicine, 
and  while  I  am  struggling  with  a  dose  he  piously 
tells  me  of  all  the  patients  he  has  seen  in  hos 
pital  and  out,  swallowing  disagreeable  draughts 
as  I  should  swallow  strawberries  and  cream. 
And  that  if  I  don't  get  well  soon  of  this,  or 
ever  have  another  attack  so  severe,  nothing  but 
an  operation  lies  before  me. 

He  has  just  come  into  the  room  and  caught 
me  writing.  Professional  disapproval  has  set 
tled  upon  his  countenance  like  a  cloak,  and  I 
have  smiled  at  him  ingratiatingly. 

"  It's  only  to  Granty,"  I  plead. 

"  Put  it  away,"  sternly. 

"  May  I  just  add  that  I  am  much  better  and 
there  is  no  cause  for  anxiety,  that  sounds  so 
nice  and  medical  ?  " 

"  Put  it  away." 

"  May  I  tell  her  that  she  is  not  to  rush  from 
Devonshire  to  Glenfinlas  like  a  streak  of  light 
ning,  as  really  there  is  no  need?  For  I  am  so 
much  better  that  I  feel  I  could  write— 

"Put  it  away."  He  shouted  this  time,  I  re 
gret  to  say.  So  I  must  put  it. 

Good-bye  for  the  present, 

Your  loving 

GWENDA. 
229 


LETTER   XIII 

GLENFINLAS  HOUSE,  THE 
TROSSACHS,  Sept.  18th. 
MY  DEAR  GBANTY: 

Lionel  has  gone.  He  left  last  evening  in  a 
white  heat  of  passion — not  with  me,  but  with 
Uncle  Sandy,  and  if  I  write  very  quickly  I  may 
be  able  to  tell  you  all  before  Mr.  Peter  catches 
me.  I  feel  so  frightfully  well  to-day  that  it  can 
not  do  any  harm.  I  am  supposed  to  be  sleeping 
now — they  order  me  to  sleep  each  afternoon 
from  three  to  four,  then  they — Mrs.  Prender- 
gast,  Uncle  Sandy,  and  Mr.  Peter — come  and 
have  tea  with  me,  so  I  have  a  whole  hour  to 
myself. 

Uncle  Sandy  came  to  me  last  evening  about 
six  o'clock,  and  asked  me  if  I  felt  equal  to  hav 
ing  a  little  chat. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  I  replied.  "  I  love  chatting 
with  you,  and  I  want  to  hear  more  about  Rod 
erick  Dhu." 

"  Not  to-day,"  he  said,  though  a  pleased  look 
came  to  his  face,  "  I  want  to  talk  about  some- 

230 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

thing  else — I — I  want  to  ask  you  a  question- 
He  sat  down  in  front  of  the  fire  and  curled  one 
long  leg  around  the  other. 

"Well!"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  do  you  like  Lady  Rivers  I "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  replied. 

"  I  understood  from  Lionel  that  she  was  a 
great  friend  of  yours." 

I  moved  my  pillow  uneasily.  It  is  difficult  to 
tell  a  person  that  your  husband  is  a  liar. 

"  It  was  a  mistake,"  I  said,  "  she  is  not  a 
friend  of  mine." 

"  And  it  wasn't  a  pleasant  surprise  to  you 
when  she  came,  not  the  pleasant  surprise  I  had 
hoped  for?" 

"  It  was  a  very  disagreeable  shock." 

"  Ah,"  he  uncurled  his  legs.  "  Gwenda,  I — I 
want  to  ask  you  something  that  you  may  deem 
an  impertinence,  and  —  and  I  don't  want  to 
offend  or  hurt  you,  but—  "  he  knit  his  brow,  and 
walking  to  the  window  stared  out  into  the  gath 
ering  darkness. 

"  I  will  tell  you  anything  you  want  to  know, 
Uncle  Sandy,"  I  said  softly,  "  and  I  am  sure 
you  couldn't  be  impertinent  if  you  tried." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  that  is  kind 
231 


GWENDA 

of  you.  It's  about  Lionel.  He  doesn't  come 
much  to  see  you.  Is  there  anything  wrong  ?  Is 
all  well  between  you  and  your  husband !  " 

"  The  night  before  I  was  taken  ill,"  I  said 
slowly,  "  I  saw  Lady  Eivers  in  Lionel's  arms. 
They  did  not  see  me." 

He  started  violently.  Then  coming  to  the 
side  of  my  bed,  he  knelt  and  took  my  hand 
in  his. 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  any  more  I  "  I  asked. 

"  Only  this.  Lionel  loved  you  once — when  he 
married  you." 

I  shook  my  head.  "  He  thought  he  did,  and 
so  I  thought,  but  I  find  he  is  incapable  of  it. 
He  thinks  now  that  he  loves  Lady  Rivers,  but 
he  doesn't.  He  wanted  to  revenge  himself  upon 
me  when  he  induced  you  to  ask  her  here.  And 
she  amuses  him,  and  she  is  very  beautiful,  and 
so  he  imagines  that  he  has  a  beautiful  affection 
for  her.  But  it  is  not  so.  The  first  time  she 
crosses  him  in  anything  he  has  set  his  heart 
upon,  she  will  go  to  the  wall  too.  Sometimes, 
Uncle  Sandy,  I  think  Lionel  isn't  quite  a  normal 
person,  that  there  is  some  kink  in  his  brain 
which  has  dwarfed  his  moral  sense.  He  is 
cruel.  Haven't  you  noticed  it?  " 

Uncle  Sandy  bowed  his  head. 
232 


GWENDA 

"  I  watched  him  fish  a  week  or  two  ago.  I 
watched  him  kill  the  fish  he  caught,  it  was  not 
done  humanely,  and  as  one  poor  little  chap 
jumped  about  the  boat  in  its  agony,  I  saw  him 
smile.  I  turned  on  him  in  a  fury,  '  You  can 
smile,'  I  shouted,  '  at  witnessing  the  death 
struggle  of  a  poor  little  creature  that  has  done 
you  no  harm.'  And  even  Lady  Rivers  had  the 
decency  to  call  him  a  brute." 

"  And  that  woman,  does  she  love  your  hus 
band?" 

I  laughed  at  the  simplicity  of  his  question. 

"  Does  she  look  as  though  she  loved  him?  If 
she  did,  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  sorry 
for  her.  Love  when  it  is  disinterested  is  always 
worthy  of  admiration,  but  she  is  only  vain — 
vain  and  selfish  to  the  heart's  core.  It  flatters 
her  vanity  to  see  another  woman's  husband  at 
her  feet,  it  pleases  her  senses,  it  gives  her  a 
feeling  of  satisfaction  to  see  him  kneeling  there, 
and  it  gratifies  her  when  she  reflects  upon  the 
suffering  of  that  other  woman.  Love  each 
other,  Uncle  Sandy !  They  are  only  playing 
at  it,  or  else  I  am  very  much  mistaken." 

Perhaps  I  spoke  bitterly,  though  I  tried  hard 
to  make  my  voice  careless,  but  Uncle  Sandy 
rose  without  a  word  and  quietly  left  the  room. 

233 


GWENDA 

An  hour  later  I  heard  a  carriage  drive  away, 
and  a  little  while  after  he  came  into  the  room. 

"  I  have  cleared  that  woman  off,"  he  said 
briefly.  His  usual  ruddy  face  was  pale  and  his 
hands  shook  from  emotion. 

"Lady  Elvers  tw 

"  Yes,  Lady  Rivers.  She  was  in  the  library 
with  Lionel.  I  opened  the  door  suddenly.  Her 
head  wasn't  actually  on  his  shoulder,  but  pretty 
near  it.  Then  I  let  fly.  I  hardly  know  what  I 
said,  but  it  was  pretty  bad — not  much  varnish 
about  it.  I  told  her  what  I  thought  of  her. 
'  Such  women  as  you/  I  thundered,  '  vain,  self 
ish,  cruel — yes,  cruel — for  while  you  are  in 
dulging  in  your  flirtations,  another  woman  is  in 
deathly  pain,  are  worse  than  the  women  on  the 
streets.  They  are  princesses  by  you.  There  is 
a  certain  amount  of  loyalty  and  fairness  to  each 
other  among  them.  They  do  not  deliberately 
set  out  to  win  a  man  who  is  already  bespoken. 
While,  as  for  you,  I  can  find  no  word  to  fit  you. 
For  a  week  I  have  been  watching  you.  You 
thought  I  was  a  blind  old  fool,  but  I  saw  a  lot. 
and  it  made  me  sick.  And  I  also  saw  a  woman's 
face  blanched  from  suffering  —  more  mental 
than  physical.  I  saw  the  brave  stand  she  made, 
I  watched  her  laugh,  and  listened  to  her  talk 

234 


GWENDA 

and  she  was  game  to  the  last.  Neither  of  you, 
neither  you  nor  Lionel  is  fit  to  black  her  boots. 
And  now  go.  Leave  my  house.  No,  not  both 
of  you.  Lady  Eivers  to-night,  please;  my  car 
riage  shall  be  round  in  an  hour,  and  Lionel 
to-morrow.  You  shall  not  leave  my  house  to 
gether.'  And  I  watched  her  crawl  from  the 
room.  I  am  afraid  I  forgot  myself  and  said 
too  much,  but  I  hate  the  woman." 

I  sat  up  in  bed.  I  was  unable  to  speak.  And 
Uncle  Sandy  put  his  arm  around  me  and 
stroked  my  cheek.  "  Poor  little  girl,"  he  said. 
"  No,  don't  cry.  There  is  nothing  to  cry  about 
now — I  shall  have  that  Drexel  chap  after  me. 
She's  gone.  I  saw  her  drive  away,  and  I  didn't 
throw  rice  after  her — you  bet." 

I  laughed  and  cried  together  till  he  became 
alarmed. 

"  I'm  going  for  Drexel,"  he  announced. 

"  Don't,"  I  cried.  "  I'm  better."  I  mastered 
myself  with  a  great  effort.  "  I  won't  cry  again. 
And  Lionel?" 

"  I  said  little  to  him  for  your  sake.  He  leaves 
in  the  morning." 

And,  Granty,  aren't  we  women  extraordinary, 
illogical  creatures?  for  suddenly  I  felt  sorry 
for  Lionel.  I  felt  I  would  like  to  comfort  and 

235 


GWENDA 

belabour  him  with  blows  at  one  and  the  same 
moment.  I  felt  like  a  woman  who  is  in  the 
witness  box  at  a  police  court :  "  Yes,  your  wor 
ship,  he  did  give  me  a  black  eye,  but  he's  my 
husband  and  he  can  do  what  he  likes  with  me, 
and  I  bring  no  charge  against  him,  your  wor 
ship.  It's  people  who  will  interfere.  But  don't 
do  nothing  to  him.  I'll  talk  to  him  when  I  gets 
him  home." 

But  I  did  not  say  this  to  Uncle  Sandy.  He 
is  a  man  and  would  not  have  understood. 

Later,  I  sent  a  little  note  to  Lionel  by  Fan- 
chette.  I  said :  "  Will  you  come  to  see  me  to 
night  for  a  few  minutes'?  I  want  to  say  some 
thing  to  you.  No  reproaches  about  the  past.  I 
think  it  is  foolish  of  people,  when  they  are 
young,  to  think  of  the  past,  when  they  have 
a  future — which  may  be  full  of  good  things. 
Gwenda." 

But  he  did  not  come. 

Your  sorrowful 

GWENDA. 


236 


LETTER   XIV 

GLENFINLAS  HOUSE,  THE 
TROSSACHS,  Sept.  21st. 
MY  DEAR  GEANTY  : 

So  you  want  me  to  come  home.  Come  back 
and  take  up  my  old  life  at  Silvercombe — the 
dear  life  that  was  so  full  of  happiness.  You 
want  me  to  feed  the  chicks,  collect  the  eggs, 
clean  the  lamps,  golf  with  Mary,  walk,  sew, 
read  aloud  to  you,  watch  the  sunset,  go  to  Ex 
eter  on  market  days,  play  ecarte  with  a  certain 
dear  lady  when  evening  falls  and  the  lamps  are 
lit,  do  all  the  thousand  and  one  things  I  used 
to  love  doing,  and — Granty,  I  can't. 

Now  that  I  am  tired  and  poorly  it  all  sounds 
deliciously  restful,  but  how  am  I  to  forget  the 
ache  of  my  heart  in  a  life  so  peaceful  and  un 
eventful!  I  should  have  so  much  time  for 
thought  and  retrospection.  You  would  make 
things  too  easy  for  me,  too  rounded  off,  and  I 
want  to  hustle,  hustle  like  an  American  pork 
packer.  So — I  am  going  to  work. 

237 


GWENDA 

I  can  see  you  lift  your  pretty  hands  in  dis 
may.  I  can  hear  what  you  say :  "  You  propose 
joining  the  ranks  of  unqualified,  underpaid, 
underfed,  anaemic  women  who  work  for  their 
livings  ?  And  what  particular  colourless  species 
of  drab  are  you  going  to  be :  Nursery  governess, 
clerk,  typist,  companion,  or  housekeeper?" 
Your  voice  is  full  of  scorn,  and  it  behooves  me 
to  be  firm  when  you  are  in  such  a  mood.  So  I 
reply,  "  I  haven't  yet  made  up  my  mind  what  I 
shall  do,  but  it  will  be  work,  not  playing  at  it; 
downright  hard  work — your-fingers-to-the-bone 
sort  of  work.  Work  that  keeps  your  mind  and 
body  on  the  run  by  day,  and  sends  you  to 
dreamless  sleep  at  night." 

Granty,  I  must  howl  for  a  bit  to  myself.  I 
cannot  help  it.  Later,  I  shall  howl  at  intervals. 
After  a  while  I  shan't  howl  at  all.  I  have  seen 
a  widow  prostrate  for  the  first  three  months 
of  her  widowhood,  playing  bridge  at  the  end 
of  six,  attending  theatres  and  race  meetings  at 
the  end  of  twelve,  remarried  at  the  end  of 
eighteen.  Above  everything  else  I  try  not  to 
cheat  myself.  Human  nature  has  enormous 
recuperative  powers,  thank  God.  My  nature  is 
very  little  different  from  other  people's  natures. 
There  are  degrees  of  sorrow  as  there  are  de- 

238 


GWENDA 

grees  of  joy,  but  ultimately  most  of  us  arrive 
at  moderate  happiness  if  we  have  fair  health 
and  enough  to  eat  and  drink.  Some  of  us  ar 
rive  at  that  happiness  quicker  than  others.  The 
widow  was  quick,  perhaps  I  shall  be  slow.  But 
sooner  or  later  my  howling  will  be  finished  and 
then  I  will  come  home,  and  we  will  have  some 
more  good  times  together.  You  will  say  if  I 
arrive  at  nothing  else  that  philosophy  has  come 
to  my  aid.  Doesn't  sorrow  always  bring  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  philosophy  in  its  train?  You 
have  often  told  me  that  this  is  so.  In  one's 
first  wild  grief,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  the 
sun  will  ever  shine  again.  You  see  that  it  is 
shining  upon  others  who  have  suffered,  but 
their  suffering  has  never  been  as  acute  as  your 
own.  They  may  have  lost  beloved  children,  a 
sister,  a  mother,  a  brother,  but  there  are  things 
that  are  worse  than  death  you  say  to  yourself, 
believing  that  this  is  the  truth.  But,  later,  you 
know  that  there  is  nothing  worse  than  death. 
Nothing  in  the  world.  There  is  a  remoteness 
about  a  dead  person  you  have  loved,  a  silence, 
which  are  stunning.  You  might  pick  a  man's 
pocket,  Granty,  you  might  go  to  prison,  but 
when  you  came  out  I  should  still  have  you 
to  love,  to  hold  in  my  arms,  to  touch.  So  I 

239 


GWENDA 

try  to  tell  myself  that  I  have  not  suffered 
the  greatest  sorrow  that  is  possible,  and  that 
the  sun  may  shine  again  some  day,  even  for 
me. 

And  when  it  does  begin  to  shine  I  shall  rush 
straight  off  to  Silvercombe,  and  we'll  enjoy  it 
together.  In  the  meantime,  as  soon  as  I  get 
quite  strong,  I'm  going  to  hustle  round  and 
earn  my  own  bread.  Again  you  become  in 
sistent  and  say  "What  at?"  And  that's  just 
what  I  am  trying  to  decide.  A  few  months 
back,  before  I  crossed  to  St.  Malo,  I  should 
have  said,  a  stewardess  on  board  a  big  liner: 
Something  very  breezy  about  such  a  life,  plenty 
of  variety  among  the  passengers,  great  satis 
faction  in  seeing  people  with  bright  green 
faces  when  your  own  is  rosy  with  health.  Now, 
I  know  that  mine  would  be  greener  than  most, 
so  being  a  stewardess  is  off.  The  position  of 
hall  porter  in  a  big  cheerful  hotel,  or  clerk  in 
a  police  court  are  barred  to  me  by  my  sex  dis 
ability,  also  that  of  an  engine  driver.  There 
are  few  jobs  open  to  women  that  I  fancy.  I 
wouldn't  object  to  being  a  charwoman,  as  I 
would  char  for  several  families  and  so  get 
plenty  of  change,  but  doubt  my  strength  for 
scrubbing.  Charwomen  seem  to  do  nothing  else 

240 


GWENDA 

but  scrub,  and  if  they  stopped,  wouldn't  be  char 
women.  One  thing  I  won't  be  and  that  is  a 
companion.  The  bare  thought  of  holding  such 
a  position  nearly  makes  me  cry.  Can  you  im 
agine  anyone  less  well  equipped  for  companion 
ship  than  I,  unless  it's  yourself?  By  which  I 
don't  mean  to  be  rude,  but  you  and  I  have  not 
the  first  and  most  necessary  qualification  of 
brightness.  Everybody  wants  bright  compan 
ions.  Do  you  recollect  how  you  and  I  used  to 
detest  bright  people  —  bright-f rom-a-sense-of- 
duty  people.  Born  brightness  one  can  tolerate, 
but  not  acquired  brightness.  Miss  Swallow, 
who  used  to  live  along  Heathy  Bank,  would 
have  made  a  lovely  companion  to  anybody 
desiring  a  sort  of  cheerful  red  Christmas 
robin  hopping  about  them.  It  would  be  as 
easy  for  me  to  be  a  coal-heaver  as  a  Christ 
mas  robin.  So  if  you  can  think  of  any  kind 
of  work  more  suited  to  me  than  companion 
ships  or  charships,  let  me  know  in  your  next 
letter. 

I  am  sitting  up  in  my  bedroom  to-day.  A 
pleasant  comfortable  room,  with  a  rosy  carpet 
and  rose-coloured  walls,  along  the  frieze  of 
which  plump  shepherdesses  walk.  I  feel  quite 
well  again,  just  a  bit  tired  and  an  inclination 

241 


GWENDA 

to  sit  with  my  hands  before  me  and  stare  into 
the  fire  if  Uncle  Sandy  and  Mrs.  Prendergast 
and  her  brother  would  allow  me.  But  they 
won't  for  long.  First  one  comes  and  chats  with 
me,  and  another  comes  and  makes  me  chat  (that 
is  generally  Mr.  Peter),  and  a  third  comes  and 
reads  aloud,  or  plays  poker  patience  with  me. 
There  are  now  just  the  four  of  us  left.  Mr. 
Prendergast  has  been  obliged  to  return  to 
business,  and,  one  by  one,  the  other  guests 
have  departed.  Uncle  Sandy  insisted,  as 
soon  as  there  were  two  vacant  rooms,  that 
Mrs.  Prendergast  and  Mr.  Peter  should 
leave  the  hotel  and  take  up  their  quarters 
here. 

Neither  of  them,  in  the  very  remotest  way, 
has  made  any  reference  to  Lionel's  leaving. 
They  must  know  of  the  trouble  between  us,  of 
our  estrangement,  of  his  attitude  toward  Lady 
Eivers,  but  not  by  word  or  look  have  they 
offered  me  any  sympathy  but  for  my  illness; 
and  I  am  grateful  to  them  for  their  tact,  for 
their  delicate  consideration,  for  their  innate 
courtesy.  A  kind-hearted  ill-bred  woman  would 
have  let  me  know  she  pitied  me.  Mrs.  Prender 
gast  is  kind-hearted  and  well-bred.  Only  Uncle 
Sandy  speaks  of  him  sometimes.  He  asked  me 

242 


GWENDA 

to-day  if  I  had  heard  from  him  since  he  left, 
and  when  I  shook  my  head,  he  swore  again 
beneath  his  breath. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  Gwenda,"  he  said  a 
little  piteously,  "  and  he  is  my  nephew." 

"  You  can't  help  it,"  I  replied,  unable  to  sup 
press  a  smile.  "  You  are  not  responsible  for 
the  behaviour  of  any  nephew." 

"  But  I  never  suspected  he  was  like  this.  I 
imagined  he  was  a  decent  chap,  kind-hearted, 
straight,  at  any  rate  a  gentleman." 

"  So  did  I,"  I  said. 

"  He  looks  one." 

"  Yes,  his  appearance  is  very  attractive." 

"  Say  something  horrid  about  him,"  he 
groaned.  "  Your  silence,  your  self-restraint, 
your  white  face,  frighten  me.  Just  curse  him 
to  me,  let  yourself  go.  You'll  feel  tons  better 
if  you  will." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to.  It  will  do  no  good. 
I've  drawn  a  blank,  so  has  he.  We  must  just 
make  the  best  of  it.  There  are  thousands  of 
happy  marriages,  indeed  I  believe  the  majority 
of  marriages  are  happy.  That  ours  is  a  failure 
is  rough  luck  on  us  both.  We  both  think  it  is 
the  other's  fault,  it  is  human  nature  to  lay  the 
blame  on  anybody  but  ourselves.  I  think  it  is 

243 


GWENDA 

Lionel's  fault,  he  thinks  it  is  mine.  I  think  him 
selfish,  cold,  cruel.  He  thinks  me  dull,  superior, 
fanatical  and  old-fashioned  because  I  refuse  to 
receive  immoral  women  at  my  house,  or  laugh 
at  coarse  vulgar  stories.  I  have  been  unable  to 
retain  his  affection,  if  I  ever  had  it.  My  love 
for  him  is  nearly  dead.  It  has  been  bruised, 
trampled  upon,  spurned  in  the  dust,  but  be 
cause  it  was  so  alive  once,  I  have  made  many 
overtures  of  friendship  and  reconciliation,  all 
of  which  have  been  rebuffed.  I  have  humbled 
myself  before  him,  and  my  better  judgment,  or 
rather  Granty,  told  me  that  this  was  a  mistake, 
and  yet  I  did  it  because  of  my  love  for  him." 
My  voice  broke  a  little,  and  Uncle  Sandy  poked 
the  fire  furiously. 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  said  after  a  time.  "  Does  it  hurt 
you  to  tell  me?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "  Not  much  now,  my  pride 
has  gone.  It  always  hurts  a  woman's  pride  for 
the  world  to  know  that  she  has  lost  the  affection 
of  her  husband.  It  is  like  admitting  her  failure 
to  hold  him.  But,  now,  even  that  has  gone.  I 
have  become  indifferent  to  what  the  world 
thinks,  and  my  own  particular  world  is  so  very 
small:  Granty,  you,  the  Prendergasts,  Mr. 
Drexel,  one  or  two  old  friends  at  Silvercombe. 

244 


GWENDA 

They  will  not  despise  me  because  I  have  proved 
unattractive  to  my  husband." 

"  Despise  you !  Don't  you  think  they  will 
marvel  at  his  lack  of  taste ! " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  sighed.  "  I  am  not  really 
attractive  to  men  in  general,  in  fact  I  think  a 
great  many  men  dislike  me.  I  don't  say  pleas 
ant  things  to  them.  Only  a  few  weeks  ago  I 
was  really  rude  to  a  man  who  took  me  in  to 
dinner,  the  sort  of  person  I  label  a  club  man. 
I  have  them  all  arranged  in  neat  little  parcels 
in  my  mind.  There  are  club  men  and  games 
men,  business  men,  and  loafers,  serious  men 
with  a  purpose  written  large  over  their  earnest 
countenances,  and  literary  men,  artist  men  and 
music  men,  professional  men  and  scientific  men, 
public  affairs  men  and  sportsmen,  domestic 
men  and  racing  men.  The  games  men  are  the 
most  boring,  the  loafers  are  the  most  amusing, 
the  professional  men  interest  me  most  because 
they  rarely  talk  of  themselves,  and  the  club  men 
I  dislike  the  most.  This  particular  club  man 
was  well  preserved,  had  black  hair  carefully 
brushed  over  the  thin  places,  a  blue  clean- 
shaved  face,  a  monocle,  and  took  an  intense  and 
really  intelligent  interest  in  his  dinner,  which 
was  a  particularly  good  one.  He  examined  the 

245 


menu  with  care  and  forgot  that  I  existed.  His 
first  glass  of  champagne  apparently  warmed 
him,  for  raising  his  eyes  from  his  plate  he  took 
a  rapid  survey  of  the  assembled  guests,  the 
second  glass  apparently  caused  him  to  feel 
cordial,  for  he  laughed  at  a  joke  perpetrated  by 
a  man  across  the  table,  the  third  made  him  ex 
pansive,  and  with  the  desire  to  expand  to  some 
body  he  suddenly  realised  I  was  there  at  his 
side,  and  a  woman  too.  He  was  well  fed,  he 
was  comfortable,  good  wine  ran  through  his 
veins,  he  smiled  and  bent  confidingly  toward 
me.  And  it  was  then  I  spoke,  amiably  and  smil 
ingly  :  *  I  am  not  ready  yet.  You  have  had 
three  glasses  of  champagne  and  I  have  not  fin 
ished  one.  You  enjoyed  the  entree,  and  I  didn't. 
You  have  taken  all  the  courses  and  I  have 
skipped  one.  You  are  feeling  comfortable  in 
side  and  I  am  not.  I  shall  be  an  uninteresting, 
irritable  companion  as  yet  if  you  talk  to  me, 
so  please  wait  till  I  have  arrived  at  the  same 
stage  as  you.  And  don't  tell  me  I  am  a  pretty 
woman,  because  it's  open  to  discussion.'  And, 
of  course,  the  man  sat  open-mouthed,  a  piece 
of  lamb  cutlet  poised  on  his  fork,  and  he  nat 
urally  thought  me  either  a  lunatic  or  the  rudest 
girl  he  had  ever  met.  So  you  can  see,  Uncle 

246 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

Sandy,  that  there  are  many  men  who  must  dis 
like  me  horribly." 

He  sat  back  and  roared.  "  Yes,  certainly,  if 
you  talk  to  them  in  that  way.  But  I  have  never 
seen  you  in  such  a  mood.  You  always  speak 
to  me  nicely." 

"  Could  I  do  anything  else  ?  "  I  replied,  strok 
ing  his  sleeve.  "  You  have  been  so  good  to  me, 
so  kind.  I  have  trespassed  upon  your  hospital 
ity  so  greatly.  You  invited  me  for  a  fortnight, 
and  I  have  been  here  for  nearly  a  month,  and 
Mr.  Drexel  forbids  me  to  travel  for  another 
four  days." 

"  I  shall  miss  you  when  you  have  gone.  This 
house  is  large,  and  I  am  a  lonely  old  man,"  he 
sighed. 

"Will  you  have  me  again  some  day?"  I 
asked.  "  It  will  be  such  a  lovely,  restful  holiday 
in  prospect  when  my  work  becomes  too  ardu 
ous.  When  I  feel  I  must  fly  from  my  charing 
or  my  shopkeeping,  or  my  duties  as  lady's 
maid." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  Lionel,  and  I'm  going 
to  work." 

"  You're  going  to  leave  Lionel  f  "  he  cried  in 
astonishment. 

247 


GWENDA 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"  Leave  him  for  good.  Not  live  in  his  house," 
he  was  greatly  distressed. 

"  Uncle  Sandy,"  I  said  gently.  "  Did  you 
think  I  could  remain  with  Lionel  when  he  has 
ceased  to  care  for  me?  What  object  is  gained 
when  two  people  live  together  if  they  don't  care 
for  each  other!  When  they  irritate  one  an 
other,  get  on  each  other's  nerves,  render  each 
other's  lives  miserable.  If  I  had  a  child  I  would 
remain  for  its  sake,  but  for  no  other  reason  in 
the  world." 

He  looked  into  the  fire  deeply  troubled. 

"  But  perhaps  with  patience " 

"  Never,"  I  interrupted.  "  Not  if  I  possessed 
the  patience  of  an  angel  and  fifty  Jobs  rolled 
in  one  would  Lionel  ever  care  for  me  again. 
We  have  been  married  for  less  than  six  months, 
and  it  feels  like  sixty  years.  Neither  do  I  want 
him  to  love  me  again.  Before  he  left  the  other 
evening  I  gave  him  one  more  chance,  I  wrote 
him  a  little  note.  I  asked  him  to  come  to  me. 
And  he  didn't.  That  is  sufficient.  I  shall  go 
back  to  Prince's  Gate  for  a  night  in  order  to 
tell  him  that  I  am  leaving.  I  think  this  is  only 
fair  to  him — and  to  collect  my  belongings,  then 
I  shall  pass  out  of  his  life." 

248 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"  And  you  will  return  to  Silvercombe  f  " 

"  Perhaps  later.  But  now  I  shall  work,  work 
is  the  only  panacea  for  trouble,  don't  you 
think?" 

"  I  wonder  what  you  will  work  at."  His 
voice  was  slightly  sarcastic.  "  Looking  at  the 
space  you  occupy  in  that  armchair,  I  should 
calculate  roughly  that  your  fighting  weight  is 
below  eight  stone,  and  you  are  a  fairly  tall  girl, 
Gwenda." 

"  Thin  people  are  invariably  more  active  than 
stout  people.  Besides  it's  unfair  to  mention  my 
appearance  just  now  when  I  have  been  shut  up 
in  this  room  for  some  days.  I  have  been  boiled 
and  roasted,  and  when  you  boil  or  roast  meat 
its  weight  is  reduced.  I  thought  you  would 
know  this.  I  want  fresh  air.  Uncle  Sandy,  will 
you  take  me  for  a  drive  to-morrow  along  some 
wide  high  moor?  Not  through  a  valley  shut  in 
by  the  mountains,  but  in  a  place  where  there 
are  curlews  and  strong  sunshine  and  fresh 
sweet  winds.  Just  you  and  I  alone.  And  we 
won't  talk  to  one  another,  because  you  and  I 
are  such  good  friends  that  we  can  afford  to 
indulge  in  silences,  and  so  few  people  can  do 
that." 

And  he  said  that  he  would.  I  would  like  you 
249 


GWENDA 

to  know  Uncle  Sandy,  because  you  must  have 
met  so  few  really  nice  men,  Granty. 

September  23rd. — To-morrow  we  return  to 
London:  Mrs.  Prendergast,  Mr.  Peter  and  I. 
They  pretend  that  they  have  not  extended  their 
visit  for  my  sake,  that  they  are  not  travelling 
to-morrow  in  order  to  look  after  me,  that  they 
are  not  sorry  for  me,  and  this  last  little  deceit 
I  appreciate  the  most.  I  don't  want  them  to  be 
sorry  for  me.  We  can  only  tolerate  pity  from 
a  chosen  few. 

Do  they  imagine  that  I  don't  see  through 
them?  I  hope  so.  I  would  not  spoil  their  little 
game.  I  would  not  have  Mrs.  Prendergast 
know  that  I  know  she  is  only  pretending  when 
she  assumes  that  I  have  heard  from  Lionel. 
She  rattles  on  and  gives  me  no  chance  to 
speak.  She  still  holds  forth  on  the  correct 
management  of  husbands,  and  is  always  de 
lightful  on  the  subject.  This  is  what  she  said 
to-day : 

"  Humour  them  in  all  the  little  things  that 
don't  really  matter.  If  they  want  the  blinds 
up  when  the  sun  is  pouring  into  the  room,  let 
them  have  them  up,  and  presently  you,  yourself, 
go  and  sit  on  the  cool  verandah.  If  they  want 

250 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

to  put  their  feet  on  your  best  couch  let  them, 
because  a  couch  is  so  easily  re-covered.  If  they 
want  to  go  to  sleep  immediately  after  dinner, 
let  them,  because  if  they  stayed  awake  they 
would  probably  be  cross.  Let  them  have  their 
way  about  nineteen  unimportant  matters,  it  will 
make  them  feel  they  are  masters  of  your  des 
tiny;  they  will  stand  with  their  backs  to  the 
fire,  thumbs  in  waistcoats,  swaying  backward 
and  forward  on  their  heels,  feeling  very  fine 
fellows.  But  when  the  twentieth  and  really 
important  matter  comes  along,  you  see  that 
you're  away  on  top,  before  your  husband  finds 
out  it  is  important,  because  men  are  not  quick. 
If  you  are  keen  on  moving  to  number  19  round 
the  corner  because  of  its  good  bathroom,  have 
the  vans  at  the  door  before  he  has  had  time  to 
consider  whether  he  wants  a  good  bathroom  or 
not.  When  he  opens  his  mouth  to  speak,  be 
ready  with  some  really  good  grilled  kidneys  to 
put  into  it,  and  mention  carelessly  that  Mr. 
Jones,  his  superior  at  the  office,  was  after  the 
house,  and  congratulate  yourself  on  having  a 
husband  of  such  prompt  action.  He,  himself, 
will  help  the  men  to  move  the  inlaid  cabinets, 
and  tell  his  friends  that  he  has  just  done  a 
smart  bit  of  business." 

251 


GWENDA 

"  What  you  really  mean  is,"  I  laughed,  "  that 
to  manage  men  you  must  gull  them?  " 

"  Don't  use  such  an  expression,"  she  said, 
pretending  to  look  shocked.  "  I  hate  women 
who  stoop  to  deceit.  Men  are  so  really  reason 
able  that  you  have  only  to  understand  their  lit 
tle  ways " 

"  In  order  to  get  your  own,"  I  interrupted. 

"  Yes,  if  you  like  to  put  it  that  way.  Just  in 
the  same  way  a  shrewish  woman  can  always 
retain  the  affection  of  her  husband." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  speaking  carelessly,  and  alter 
ing  the  position  of  my  cushion,  "  That  is  a  sub 
ject  that  always  interests  me.  Do  tell  me  how 
it  is  done.  I  sit  at  your  feet."  We  still  keep 
up  the  pretence  that  my  marriage  is  a  happy 
one. 

"  It  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  The 
woman  must  run,  and  the  man  must  chase  her. 
She  must  never  stop  running  and  must  never 
allow  herself  to  be  caught." 

"  That  is  an  old  wheeze,"  I  smiled.  "  And 
I  should  have  thought  you  were  too  clever  to 
have  perpetrated  it." 

She  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  what  is  going  to 
happen  when  the  woman  is  too  old  to  run  and 

252 


GWENDA 

the  man  no  strength  to  chase  her?  Books, 
plays,  people  seem  to  forget  that  husbands  and 
wives  are  much  longer  middle-aged,  and  even 
old,  than  they  are  young.  Middle-aged  hus 
bands  and  wives,  when  they  have  lost  their 
wind,  don't  want  to  go  chasing  each  other  about 
like  a  couple  of  rabbits.  Surely  they  want  a 
love  that  has  been  built  upon  a  stabler  founda 
tion  than  that  of  allurement  and  desire?  They 
want  the  love  that  means  understanding,  sym 
pathy  and  good  co'mpanionship.  Imagine  a 
man  of,  say,  fifty,  returning  from  his  work  tired, 
worried  and  hungry,  and  finding  a  wife  of  the 
same  age,  decked  out  in  all  her  finery,  coquet 
tish,  capricious,  and  wanting  to  be  chased  for  a 
kiss.  The  man  would  swear,  or  bang  the  door 
if  he  were  a  properly  constituted  normal  man 
of  fifty.  What  he  wanted  was  a  welcome,  a  look 
of  sympathy  for  his  fatigue,  an  armchair 
pushed  before  the  fire,  the  mere  comfort  of  her 
gracious,  serene  presence.  A  man  of  twenty- 
five  might  be  ready  at  the  end  of  a  day's  work 
to  make  ardent  love  to  his  wife  and  chase  her 
round  the  room,  but  not  a  man  of  fifty.  It 
seems  so  hard  to  me  that  the  people  who  are 
responsible  for  such  alliances  as  *  women  must 
run  and  men  must  chase  them '  refuse  to  reckon 

253 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

with  the  enormous  number  of  middle-aged  hus 
bands  and  wives  who  don't  want  to  run,  but 
want  to  be  unromantically  happy  together." 

Mrs.  Prendergast  sat  down  and  stared  at 
me. 

"  Of  course,  you're  young  enough  and  beauti 
ful  enough  to  go  on  running  and  Mr.  Prender 
gast  is  very  active,"  I  said  apologetically. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  quite  right,"  she  said. 
" '  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings, 
etc.'  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light  before. 
I  am  ten  years  older  than  you,  and  I  am  a  fool. 
From  this  day  I  set  about  building  my  house 
of  love  on  a  good  solid  foundation  of  reason 
able,  work-a-day  affection.  You  should  have 
been  a  happy  wife  and  mother,  Gwenda."  And 
then,  I  think  because  she  saw  I  was  near  to 
tears  at  her  words,  she  went  quietly  out  of  the 
room. 

The  evening  of  September  23rd. — Your  letter 
arrived  an  hour  ago.  There  is  only  one  delivery 
of  letters  a  day  here,  but  sometimes  Uncle 
Sandy  sends  a  man  to  Callander  in  the  even 
ing  on  an  errand  and  he  calls  at  the  post  office, 
and  so  to-night  I  have  had  your  killing  epistle. 
And,  oh  Granty,  how  I  have  laughed  over  it. 

254 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

I  have  laughed  so  much  that  already  I  feel  a 
pound  heavier.  And  what  pleases  me  is  the 
knowledge  that  I  can  still  laugh.  That  it  has 
not  all  dried  up.  My  recuperative  powers,  you 
see,  are  already  beginning  to  be  active. 

And  oh,  you  are  funny!  I  have  had  appen 
dicitis.  Flatly  I  contradict  you.  In  spite  of  all 
you  say,  of  the  terrible  mistakes  of  doctors  that 
have  come  beneath  your  notice,  I  have  had  ap 
pendicitis.  I  don't  want  to  have  had  it,  I  am 
not  in  the  least  proud  of  having  had  it,  I  never 
mean  to  have  it  again  if  I  can  possibly  help  it, 
I  shall  eschew  the  seeds  of  raisins  and  grapes 
and  raspberries  and  strawberries  as  I  try  to 
eschew  the  temptations  of  the  devil,  and  I  cer 
tainly  won't  have  an  operation  if  I  can,  by  any 
power  of  my  own,  prevent  it. 

I  was  playing  ecarte  with  Mr.  Peter  in  the 
library  when  your  letter  was  handed  to  me,  and 
as  I  have  no  peace  till  I  have  devoured  every 
word  of  your  quaint  interesting  epistles,  I  laid 
down  my  hand  and  asked  for  his  forbearance 
for  a  moment  while  I  read  it.  And  the  next 
thing,  and  I  hope  you  won't  be  angry  with  me, 
I  was  reading  it  out  to  him.  It  was  too  good  a 
thing  to  be  missed.  The  bit  he  liked  best  and 
made  me  re-read  several  times  was  this  —  I 

255 


GWENDA 

quote  from  your  own  words :  "  This  Mr.  Drexel 
may  be  a  nice  kind  man,  anxious  to  do  his  best, 
but  don't  forget  he  is  a  doctor  of  medicine,  and 
doctors  of  medicine,  especially  when  they  are 
surgeons,  make  more  mistakes  than  any  other 
creatures  on  this  troublous  globe.  Doctors  of 
science  make  a  power  of  trouble  with  their  in 
vestigations  and  discoveries  and  prognostica 
tions  which  never  come  true,  but  they  can't 
come  near  doctors  of  medicine  in  the  havoc  they 
work  in  the  minds  and  bodies  of  credulous 
people. 

"  I  knew  a  man,  a  farmer,  who  was  ill,  and 
the  doctors  gave  him  up.  He  was  getting  cold, 
what  you  call  in  a  moribund  condition,  and  they 
stepped  gently  from  the  room  and  said  they 
could  do  no  more. 

"  '  Now  it's  my  turn,'  said  the  wife.  And  she 
got  eight  big,  empty  vinegar  bottles  and  filled 
them  with  boiling  water,  and  three  of  these  she 
laid  against  each  of  his  sides  and  legs,  and  the 
other  two  she  put  against  his  feet.  Then  she 
poured  some  hot  rum  and  milk  down  his  throat, 
and  though  he  couldn't  speak  his  eyes  said  he 
liked  it,  and  he  signalled  for  more,  and  she  kept 
filling  up  the  bottles  with  boiling  water,  and 
pouring  down  the  rum  and  milk,  till  his  eyes 

256 


GWENDA 

shut  in  a  beautiful  sleep.    And  that  man  is  liv 
ing  now." 

I  remember  him,  Granty.  It  was  Jacob  Win- 
terbottom.  And  I  am  of  opinion  that  the  Angel 
of  Death  might  beckon  to  him  with  little  result 
so  long  as  anyone  was  about  who  would  con 
tinue  to  pour  rum  and  milk  down  his  throat. 
Jacob  will  have  to  die  a  sudden  death. 

Then  you  go  on  to  say :  "  There  was  my  old 
friend  Susan  Taylor.  She  had  been  married 
for  some  years  when  she  fancied  she  had  got  a 
tumour.  Most  of  her  friends  had  got  tumours, 
and  she  had  been  left  behind  in  the  running, 
and  she  was  an  ambitious  woman.  '  Yes '  her 
medical  man  assured  her,  he  had  grave  fears 
that  she  was  right.  She  must  see  a  first-class 
specialist,  and  he  wrote  things  on  cards,  and 
bowed  her  out  of  the  room.  The  specialist  was 
very  awe-inspiring,  and  his  frock  coat  was  very 
long.  For  every  extra  inch  on  a  specialist's 
frock  coat  the  patient  pays  an  extra  guinea,  I 
have  noticed.  His  fee  was  £3.3.,  and  he  also 
wrote  things  on  cards.  He  said  an  operation 
must  be  performed  within  a  month.  The  tumour 
was  a  large  fibroid  one,  but  not  malignant,  he 
would  write  to  her  doctor,  and  he  bowed  her 
out  of  the  room. 

257 


GWENDA 

"  Now,  my  friend  Susan  Taylor  was  of  an 
impatient  disposition.  She  didn't  want  to  wait 
a  month  for  her  operation,  the  spring-cleaning 
was  finished  and  she  had  nothing  to  do.  So  she 
went  to  see  another  specialist.  She  didn't  con 
sult  her  doctor  about  this  one.  She  did  it  off 
her  own  bat.  His  diagnosis  was  not  a  bit  like 
the  man's  with  the  long  coat.  He  was  of  opin 
ion  she  was  suffering  from  dropsy.  My  friend 
was,  naturally,  greatly  perplexed.  Dropsy  was 
not  nearly  so  exciting  as  an  operation.  She 
went  home  and  told  her  husband,  and  he,  being 
a  shrewd  man,  whispered  something  in  her  ear. 
And  it  greatly  annoyed  my  friend  Susan  Tay 
lor,  and  she  went  to  bed  in  great  dudgeon. 
Within  a  week  she  was  delivered  of  a  fine  male 
child,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  her  hus 
band  had  the  laugh  against  her,  and  they  had 
been  married  for  twenty  years." 

Do  you  know,  I  thought  Mr.  Peter  would 
have  died  with  laughter  at  this  story,  and  I  am 
not  a  bit  sure  if  I  ought  to  have  read  it  to  him. 
Where  do  you  get  hold  of  such  yarns  ? 

Your  last  about  the  man  who  was  operated 
on  for  appendicitis  when  he  was  suffering  from 
acute  pneumonia,  is  the  only  one,  Mr.  Peter 
says,  that  could  contain  the  slightest  foundation 

258 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

of  truth.  It  would  be  possible,  but  not  prob 
able. 

Set  your  mind  at  rest,  dear  heart,  only  dire 
necessity  would  ever  send  me  to  the  operating 
table.  I  have  as  great  a  horror  of  such  a  con 
tingency  as  you.  I  am  not  like  your  friend 
Susan  Taylor  who  was  hard  up  for  something 
to  do.  Besides,  I  am  so  much  better,  and  with 
care  I  may  escape  ever  having  another  attack. 

When  I  folded  away  your  letter,  Mr.  Peter 
remarked  what  an  exceptionally  nice  old  lady 
you  must  be.  And,  of  course,  I  said  you  were, 
and  straightway,  forgetting  all  about  our  game, 
I  fell  to  telling  him  of  your  sayings  and  doings. 
I  must  have  talked  for  half  an  hour  before  I 
realised  what  I  was  doing,  and  when,  a  little 
shamefacedly,  I  pulled  myself  up,  he  said :  "  I 
knew  some  beautiful  old  lady  must  have  brought 
you  up,  beautiful  in  mind  as  well  as  in  body. 
Tell  me  some  more,  if  you  are  not  tired." 

Wasn't  it  nice  of  him?  My  cheeks  burnt  with 
pride  and  pleasure,  and  I  am  so  glad,  so  happy, 
so  proud  that,  through  my  own  poor  weak 
medium,  I  am  able  to  transfuse  a  tiny  bit  of 
your  reflected  glory.  Perhaps  I  am  not  ex 
pressing  myself  clearly;  what  I  mean  to  say  is, 
that  I  am  so  glad  somebody  thinks  I  am  a  credit 

259 


GWENDA 

to  you  and  your  training  however  infinitesimal 
that  credit  may  be,  and  not  a  disgrace.  In  the 
old  days  whenever  I  was  depressed  and  down, 
felt  wicked  or  meanhearted,  I  would  go  to  look 
for  you.  You  might  be  in  the  garden  or  the 
box  room,  the  hen  run  or  the  greenhouse,  but 
wherever  you  were  I  searched  for  you  till  I 
found  you. 

"What  is  it?"  you  would  ask.  "What  do 
you  want,  Gwenda  f  "  And  I  would  make  some 
idle  excuse  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  store 
cupboard  key,  or  the  note  book  in  which  we 
kept  the  record  of  the  eggs  that  were  laid,  but 
I  never  told  you  I  had  only  come  to  look  at  you. 
And  as  I  looked  and  found  comfort,  I  knew 
what  the  angels  felt  when  they  had  been  in  the 
presence  of  God. 

Granty,  I  thank  you  for  just  being  what  you 
are,  and  I  inscribe  myself  always  and  for  ever, 
Your  loving  and  deeply  grateful 

GWENDA. 


260 


LETTER   XV 

PRINCE'S  GATE,  LONDON,  S.  W., 

Sept.  24th. 

MY  DEAR  GrRANTY : 

Just  this  brief  line  to  tell  you  of  my  safe 
arrival. 

I  am  tired,  but  the  journey  has  been  a  long 
one. 

I  was  received  by  Balbriggan,  Hillingbran, 
Mrs.  Perkins,  about  four  other  servants, 
Shandy,  who  has  grown  enormously  stout  and 
tried  to  bite  Fanchette ;  and  a  big  pile  of  letters 
and  cards  awaited  me,  but  no  Lionel.  A  tempt 
ing  little  supper  was  laid  in  the  dining-room 
for  one.  Bread,  potatoes,  sauce,  salsify  were 
handed  to  me  alternately  by  Balbriggan  and 
Hillingbran.  I  choked  into  my  cream  a  la  mode, 
and  then  told  them  they  could  leave  the  room. 
I  waved  savouries  and  cheese  to  one  side  in 
spite  of  their  expostulations,  and  ordered  them 
to  place  the  dessert  on  the  table. 

When  they  retired  I  burst  into — laughter,  not 
2G1 


GWENDA 

tears.  I  was  imagining  the  contrast  of  things. 
To-night  I  sat  in  state  waited  upon  by  two 
gorgeous  creatures  who  only  breathed  a  little 
more  noiselessly  than  they  trod.  To-morrow  I 
should  be  in  a  furnished  apartment,  probably 
eating  sausages  and  mashed  potatoes  which 
may  be  rash  after  my  illness,  but  I  love  them 
so,  and  you  can't  with  dignity  eat  sausages  and 
mashed  in  a  house  in  Prince's  Gate.  I  shall  be 
waited  upon  by  a  gaspy  girl  with  impossible 
hands,  like  the  servant  in  "  Merely  Mary  Ann," 
and  funeral  cards  mounted  in  black,  and  dead 
ancestors  will  gaze  at  me  from  the  flowery 
walls.  The  coals  will  be  cheap  and  dirty,  and 
the  lamp  will  smell.  Shells  and  china  dogs  will 
ornament  the  mantelpiece,  which  will  be  of  mot 
tled  marble,  and  birds  in  glass  cases  will  litter 
the  tables,  also  wool  mats  and  tortoiseshell  tea 
caddies. 

But  do  you  know,  I  believe  I  shall  almost 
touch  the  edge  of  happiness,  for  I  shall  be  inde 
pendent,  and  the  strain  will  have  been  removed 
— the  strain  of  wondering  what  I  can  do  next 
to  please  Lionel,  put  him  in  a  good  temper, 
make  him  happy ;  the  strain  of  trying  to  appear 
fair  in  his  eyes,  of  wearing  uncomfortable,  long, 
clinging  frocks  with  wispy  trains  over  which 

2G2 


GWENDA 

I  always  was  tripping,  and  hats  which  made  my 
head  split  with  their  weight. 

I  am  not  taking  any  of  my  clothes  for  which 
Lionel  has  paid.  I  have  told  Fanchette  to  un 
earth  my  dear  blue  serge  coat  and  skirt,  which 
jointly  possess  three  pockets.  There  are  com 
pensations  for  everything  in  life,  I  shall  lose  a 
husband  and  gain  a  pocket. 

I  also  told  Fanchette  to  have  my  things 
packed  for  going  away  by  eleven  o'clock  to 
morrow. 

"  You  are  going  away  again,  Madame  f  "  she 
asked  in  astonishment.  "  Madame  will  excuse 
me,  I  know,  but  I  hoped  for  one  day  in  London 
to  buy  a  few  things  that  are  greatly  necessary 
to  me.  Also  I  want  to  buy  a  tie,  a  beautiful 
one  of  purple  and  green  in  the  Burlington  Ar 
cade  for — "  she  blushed  a  little,  "  for — Madame 
will  guess  perhaps— 

"  For  Monsieur  le  Boots  ?  "  I  queried  softly. 

"Yes,  Madame,  you  have  guessed.  Purple 
is  his  colour,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  I  should  say  it  was,  he  has  a  nice  clear 
skin  if  I  remember  rightly." 

"  A  beautiful  skin,  Madame,  so  fair."  She 
clasped  her  hands. 

"  And  you  are  betrothed,  Fanchette?  " 
263 


GWENDA 

"  Nearly,  Madame,  Monsieur  le  Boots  gave 
me  a  brooch,  it  has  forget-me-nots  on  it."  She 
blushed  again. 

"  And  you  are  giving  him  a  Burlington  Ar 
cade  tie — they  are  expensive." 

"Yes,  Madame.  To  the  footman  at  Mrs. 
Prendergast's  I  gave  only  a  sixpence  ha'penny 
tie  from  Hope  Brothers."  She  smoothed  down 
her  apron  reminiscently,  and  sighed. 

"  And  a  tie  from  the  Burlington  Arcade 
means  business  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  Madame." 

"  Well,  Fanchette,  you  will  have  plenty  of 
time  for  your  shopping.  You  are  not  going 
with  me,  and — I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy 
with  Monsieur  le  Boots,"  I  said. 

"  Not  going  with  you,  Madame,"  she  cried. 
"  You  go  alone,  and  you  have  been  ill." 

"  I  am  better  now." 

"  But  who  will  dress  Madame's  hair?  "  She 
was  genuinely  distressed. 

"  I  shall  dress  it  myself,  and  I  don't  want  to 
hurt  you,  Fanchette,  but  I  am  looking  forward 
to  the  prospect,"  I  laughed.  "  Now,  go  and 
pack  my  things.  Three  plain  frocks,  the  under- 
linen  I  had  in  my  trousseau,  no  evening  gowns 
as  you  disposed  of  my  beloved  green  spangled 

2  04 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

net  and  my  wedding  dress  which  wasn't  Direc- 
toire.  One  trunk,  remember,  and  my  old  hat 
box." 

"  But — "  Her  mouth  opened  wide,  and  I 
went  quickly  out  of  the  room. 

So  I  have  made  all  my  arrangements.  I  have 
searched  the  Daily  Telegraph,  and  jotted  down 
the  addresses  of  several  advertised  apartments, 
to  which  I  shall  drive  to-morrow.  I  have  £15 
of  my  own  money,  how  thankful  I  am  that  my 
father  left  me  that  tiny  bit  in  Consols.  ,£30  a 
year  is  better  than  nothing.  Then  I  begin  my 
search  for  work.  How  I  shall  go  about  it,  I 
haven't  the  faintest  idea  at  the  moment,  but  in 
spiration  may  come. 

Granty,  how  good  you  are  to  me,  and  how 
wise.  You  don't  press  me  to  return  to  Silver- 
combe  yet.  You  know  that  I  will  come  when 
I  am  ready.  You  know  that  my  wounds  are 
raw  and  bleeding,  and  that  when  they  are  healed 
the  first  person  I  shall  look  for  will  be  you. 
And  you  see  how  confident  I  am  that  you  will 
be  waiting  for  me,  ready  with  a  welcome,  a 
smile  on  your  lips,  and  hand  in  hand  we  shall 
walk  through  the  door  of  Sunset,  and,  in  spite 
of  its  name,  there  will  be  sunshine  in  the  house 
and  still  more  sunshine  out  of  doors.  Happi- 

265 


GWENDA 

ness  I  shall  have  refound.  For  it's  happiness 
I  go  in  search  of  to-morrow.  There  is  so  much 
of  it  knocking  about  the  world,  the  pessimists 
may  say  what  they  will  to  the  contrary.  It  is 
to  be  heard  in  the  song  of  the  birds  and  the 
bees,  the  sea  and  the  corn,  in  the  whisper  of 
the  wind  in  the  grass  and  the  laugh  of  a  child. 
It  is  to  be  found  in  the  light  on  the  land,  and 
the  twinkle  of  the  stars  by  night,  why  even  the 
moon  seems  to  be  laughing,  and  the  sun  when 
ever  it  appears  is  always  smiling,  as  we  know. 
There  is  so  much  happiness  everywhere  that 
surely  there  is  a  little  left  for  me.  Anyway,  I 
am  going  in  search  of  it.  Wish  me  good  luck. 
Good-night,  Granty  dear, 

Your  loving 

GWENDA. 

It  is  half  past  nine  and  Lionel  has  not  yet 
come  in.  I  am  very  tired  and  feel  far  from 
well.  How  shall  I  find  strength  to  tell  him  of 
my  purpose.  Perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  after 
all  to  slip  away  quietly  in  the  morning,  and 
then  write  and  tell  him  I  have  gone  away  for 
good.  It  would  save  us  a  pitiful  scene  perhaps, 
and  some  bitter  words.  ^  And  I  want  to  leave 
with  dignity,  and  without  anger. 

266 


GWENDA 

I  hear  his  footsteps  and  my  heart  is  beating 
suffocatingly. 

Hillingbran  is  waiting  to  take  this  to  the  post. 
I  will  write  in  a  few  days  and  give  you  my 
address.  Take  care  of  your  cold,  naughty 
woman. 


267 


LETTER   XVI 

ST.  MARGARET'S  HOSPITAL  FOR  WOMEN, 
BLOOMSBURY,  W.  C.,  Oct.  8th. 

MY  POOR  DARLING: 

So  you  are  ill.  And  you  have  been  wonder 
ing,  wondering,  worrying  yourself  to  death 
about  my  silence. 

Oh,  my  dear,  how  I  want  to  come  to  you ;  and 
I  can't.  For  I,  too,  have  been  ill,  and  over  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  lie  between  us. 

Just  think  if  you  were  in  the  next  little  bed 
to  mine — a  dear,  white-haired,  beautiful  lady 
instead  of  a  tousle-headed  fat  woman,  who  calls 
upon  God  in  a  most  peremptory  and  intimate 
fashion  to  help  her  in  her  pain. 

I  have  ten  minutes  in  which  to  write,  so  must 
hurry;  and  forgive  the  scrawl,  for  I  am  lying 
flat  on  my  back  with  the  notepaper  close  up  to 
my  chin,  which  is  not  conducive  to  good  pen 
manship. 

You  will  guess  what  has  happened  from  the 
address  above.  Yes,  at's  all  over.  Appendix 
gone — good  riddance  to  bad  rubbish — and  I'm 

268 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

making  a  pretty  good  recovery.  Temperature 
a  bit  worrying,  but  wound  healing  nicely.  Will 
be  able  to  venture  on  a  sneeze  in  a  day  or  two, 
if  sneezing  attacks  me,  without  fear  of  ruptur 
ing  stitches.  Never  wanted  to  sneeze  so  much 
in  my  life  just  because  I  can't. 

Granty,  I  wouldn't  let  them  tell  you — Mrs. 
Prendergast,  Mr.  Peter,  Panchette,  I  knew 
would  worry  so ;  and  you  had  a  heavy  cold  when 
you  last  wrote.  So,  Fanchette,  obedient  to  my 
instructions,  just  sent  you  the  post  cards  say 
ing  I  was  too  busy  to  write,  which  was  per 
fectly  true  for  I  have  been  busy. 

Forgive  the  deceit,  won't  you?  I  had  so  little 
time  to  think,  to  plan.  In  ten  days  I  shall  be 
discharged  from  here.  Then  I  shall  take  the 
first  train  down  to  Silvercombe,  and  I  shall 
creep  into  bed  beside  you,  and  together  we  will 
get  strong  and  well. 

The  nurse  is  bearing  down  upon  me,  and  she 
is  so  plain  and  inflexible  to  duty. 

One  word  more.  Take  care  of  yourself. 
Bronchitis  is  not  a  thing  to  be  played  with.  Be 
good,  and  do  as  the  doctor  tells  you.  You  think 
you  know  more  than  he,  but  you  don't.  You 
are  a  conceited  old  lady!  Ten  days,  Granty 
mine.  Oh,  how  I  love  you.  GWENDA. 

2G9 


GWENDA 

Tell  Hannah  never  to  forget  the  friar's  bal 
sam  when  she  uses  the  steam  kettle.  It  gave 
you  great  relief  before.  And  tell  her  to  send 
me  a  wire  in  the  morning  reporting  how  you 
are. 


270 


LETTER  XVII 

ST.  MARGARET'S  HOSPITAL  FOR  WOMEN, 
BLOOMSBURY,  W.  C.,  Oct.  9th. 

MY  DEAR  GEANTY  : 

I  have  been  washed  and  my  hair  brushed  and 
combed,  and  this  morning  I  have  been  allowed 
to  plait  it  myself,  showing  how  I  am  getting  on. 
I  always  told  you  my  recuperative  powers  were 
nothing  short  of  marvellous. 

The  nurse  says  I  may  spend  a  whole  hour  in 
writing  to  you  to-day,  or  rather,  I  should  say, 
the  Sister  of  the  Ward,  who  is  much  more  sen 
sible  than  the  others,  and  I  suppose  that  is  how 
she  got  to  be  a  Sister.  Sense  always  tells  in 
the  long  run,  and  counts  much  more  than  bril 
liancy,  doesn't  it?  But  I  am  wasting  time,  and 
I  have  so  much  to  say.  I  simply  can't  wait  till 
I  get  down  to  Silvercombe.  I  am  to  write  half 
an  hour  this  morning,  and  the  other  half  this 
afternoon. 

By  this  time  you  will  have  received  my  letter 
telling  you  that  I've  been  led  to  the  slaughter, 

271 


GWENDA 

and  you  will  be  wondering  how  I  got  here — to 
a  woman's  hospital,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  just 
yet,  because  if  I  did  I  know  I  should  cry.  I 
cry  so  ridiculously  often  these  days — the  least 
thing  sets  me  off,  and  I  suppose  it's  because  I 
am  still  a  bit  weak.  But  don't  think  because  I 
cry,  I  am  unhappy.  For  I  am  not — always. 
Sometimes  I  smile  as  much  as  I  weep — can't 
laugh  yet — because  a  laugh,  though  I  don't  sup 
pose  you  know  it,  comes  through  your  abdom 
inal  muscles.  Such  lots  of  things  you  do,  come 
from  there:  sneezing,  coughing,  sighing,  clear 
ing  your  throat,  even  some  sorts  of  talking, 
and  at  first  you  have  to  whisper,  which  is 
very  awkward,  as  the  majority  of  the  nurses 
appear  to  be  slightly  deaf,  or  they  won't 
hear. 

I  was  talking  about  smiling,  wasn't  I?  And 
there  are  so  many  things  to  smile  about  in 
hospital  you  can  hardly  get  them  all  in.  There 
is  the  young  house  surgeon,  for  instance,  who 
comes  into  the  ward  at  certain  hours  of  the  day, 
tapping  his  teeth  with  a  pencil,  feeling  your 
pulse,  examining  your  tongue,  and  pretending 
he  thoroughly  understands  your  case  from  top 
to  bottom,  from  beginning  to  end,  and  would 
have  you  believe  that  he  knows  as  much  about 

272 


GWENDA 

your  inside  at  the  moment  as  your  out.  Of 
course,  you  know  he  doesn't,  he  hasn't  the  slight 
est  idea  as  to  why  half  an  hour  before  you 
had  been  in  such  pain;  but  you  don't  let  him 
know  you  are  aware  of  this,  and  that  he  is  ex 
perimenting  on  you,  learning  from  you,  and 
gaining  experience  from  your  every  symptom 
of  pain  and  uneasiness,  or  he  might  get  an 
noyed. 

You  would  be  rude  to  him,  Granty.  But  I  like 
the  boy.  He  is  young  and  very  ignorant,  but 
he  must  gain  his  experience  somehow  or  other. 
And  I  possess  the  comforting  knowledge  that 
if  anything  went  wrong  with  my  case,  he  has 
only  to  go  to  the  telephone  and  summon  the 
surgeon  or  assistant  surgeon  to  his  aid. 

"  Half  time,"  the  nurse  says,  and  I  must  stop. 
Besides  the  great,  the  important,  the  most 
eventful  moment  of  the  day  has  arrived:  the 
surgeon — the  head  surgeon — is  expected.  My 
sheet  must  be  smoothed,  my  pillow  straight 
ened,  a  crumb  must  be  dusted  from  the  bed,  I 
must  compose  my  hands  at  my  sides,  my  nails 
must  be  clean.  Over  the  ward  a  solemn  still 
ness  reigns.  The  tousle-headed  woman  begins 
to  whimper.  She  feels  sick,  she  flings  back  the 
clothes.  A  scandalised  nurse  flies  to  her  side. 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

She  mustn't  be  sick  now,  not  till  the  great  man 
has  been,  it  is  most  inconsiderate  of  her.  She 
brushes  a  wisp  of  hair  away  from  the  hot  fore 
head,  she  lays  an  eau-de-Cologne  handkerchief 
on  her  pillow,  she  bids  her  close  her  eyes  and 
be  good.  She  removes  a  bit  of  fluff  from  the 
hearthrug,  and,  for  the  third  time,  sweeps  the 
bars  of  the  grate.  I  catch  her  regarding  me 
with  a  troubled  expression.  Perhaps  I  am  look 
ing  mutinous.  I  close  my  eyes,  and  she  heaves 
a  sigh  of  relief.  Her  two  patients  are  going  to 
do  her  credit.  They  may  be  squirming  with 
pain  like  worms  on  a  pin,  but  they  look  nice; 
and  again  she  sighs  with  relief. 

4.30  P.M. — Hannah's  telegram  has  come,  and 
I  am  glad  you  are  better.  Dear  one,  do  be  care 
ful.  I  am  such  a  good  patient — though  the 
nurses  won't  allow  it — they  would  only  allow  it 
if  you  were  blind,  deaf,  dumb,  and  paralysed, 
and  lay  in  their  hands  like  a  senseless  cocoon — 
and  you  are  such  a  bad  one.  I  read  between 
the  lines  of  Hannah's  telegram :  "  Doing  as  well 
as  can  be  expected."  That  means  that  you  are 
pouring  your  medicine,  away  when  Hannah  is 
not  looking,  refusing  to  take  your  food  prop 
erly,  and  insisting  upon  having  all  the  windows 

274 


GWENDA 

open  though  you  are  down  with  bronchitis.  Do 
be  sensible  for  my  sake.  I  am  so  worried  about 
you,  and  I  am  sure  worry  is  not  good  for  any 
one  who  has  just  lost  an  appendix. 

The  stout  lady  in  the  other  bed  wants  to  talk. 
She  wants  to  talk  more  than  any  man  or  woman 
I  have  ever  met,  and  she  always  wants  to  talk 
about  the  same  thing — operations. 

She  has  had  three,  and  her  pride  about  them 
is  astonishing. 

Why  are  some  women  so  proud  of  having 
undergone  operations?  She  dilates  on  every 
symptom,  every  pain,  every  complication,  every 
phase  of  all  her  illnesses  and  all  her  opera 
tions  throughout  her  life.  She  might  have  ar 
ranged  them  all  herself.  She  also  gives  me 
intimate  details  of  the  births  of  her  three 
children. 

I  vexed  her  last  evening.  I  was  just  dropping 
off  into  a  doze  when  she  said :  "  If  ever  I  have 
another  operation,  Mrs.  Conyngham,  I— 

"You  never  will,"  I  interrupted  quickly,  be 
fore  she  could  get  any  further. 

"How  do  you  know!"  she  asked  a  little 
snappily. 

"  Because  there  can  be  nothing  left  to  be  op 
erated  upon.  From  what  you  have  told  me  all 

275 


GWENDA 

your  organs  must  be  gone."     And  her  mouth 
was  still  a  trifle  open  as  I  dropped  asleep. 

My  half  hour  isn't  up,  but  I  am  tired,  so 
tired  I  can  scarcely  move  my  pencil  along  the 
paper.  The  least  thing  seems  to  fatigue  me. 

Love  from 

GWENDA. 


276 


LETTER   XVIII 

ST.  MARGARET'S  HOSPITAL  FOR  WOMEN, 
BLOOMSBURY,  W.  C.,  Oct.  10th. 

MY  DEAR  GBANTY  : 

Your  letter  was  brought  to  me  with  my 
breakfast — no  it  wasn't  now  I  come  to  think  of 
it,  for  I  breakfast  so  early  that  nothing  but  the 
milk  could  possibly  arrive  at  such  an  ungodly 
hour.  The  blinds  go  up  with  a  clatter — great 
heavy  Venetian  ones — at  six  o'clock,  and  you 
are  recalled  from  your  first  dreamless  sleep 
following  a  long,  long  night  of  wakefulness,  by 
a  large  cup  of  tea  and  a  plate  of  stodgy  bread 
and  butter  being  pushed  beneath  your  nose. 

So  your  letter  didn't  come  with  my  breakfast, 
but  an  hour  or  two  later,  and  on  reading  it  I  lay 
and  laughed  and  cried  in  such  an  idiotic  fash 
ion  that  the  nurse  on  duty  said  she  should  take 
it  away  from  me  unless  I  at  once  became  quiet. 

Fancying  I  detected  just  a  suspicion  of  sym 
pathy  in  her  voice,  I  couldn't  see  her  face  for 
she  was  down  on  the  floor  scrattling  like  an  old 
hen  in  search  of  dust,  I  said :  "  Nurse,  are  you 

277 


GWENDA 

the  fortunate  possessor  of  a  Great  Aunt  who 
has  lovely  hair  like  crinkly  snow,  and  a  pink 
shawl  with  bobs,  and  a  black  silk  apron  with 
an  elastic  and  jet  button! " 

She  raised  herself  from  her  kneeling  posi 
tion,  and  sitting  on  the  back  of  her  feet  she 
regarded  me  carefully  for  a  moment,  then  she 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  not  crying  now,"  I  said,  mopping  away 
at  my  tears,  "  and  you  haven't  got  such  a  Great 
Aunt?" 

"  No,"  she  replied. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  I  said. 

"  You  needn't  be,"  she  returned  with  a  laugh. 
"  I  hate  relations." 

"  You  hate  relations  f  "  I  lay  and  considered 
this.  When  you  have  had  an  appendix  re 
moved,  the  simplest  proposition  takes  earnest 
thought. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  the  stout  lady  from  the  other 
bed. 

"  How  very  unfortunate,"  I  observed  mus 
ingly.  I  had  become  tired  of  the  conversation, 
and  feared  the  lady  might  start  on  her  relations 
as  she  had  done  on  her  operations. 

"  There  was  Bob  Williamson,  my  first  cous 
in—  ''  she  began. 

278 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"  Skip  Bob  Williamson,"  the  words  were  out 
before  I  knew  I  had  said  them.  Wasn't  it  awful, 
Granty?  I  lay  and  trembled. 

The  stout  lady  was  deeply  offended.  She 
gave  a  little  snort,  and  when  people  snort,  as 
you  are  aware,  I  become  simply  abject. 

"  I  am  frightfully  sorry,"  I  said.    "  I  never 
meant  to  say  that.    Please  forgive  me,  but  I— 
I  have  a  letter  I  was  particularly  anxious  to 
read  again." 

"  We  listened  to  your  tale  about  the  old  lady 
with  the  bobs,"  she  said  reproachfully. 

"  I  know  you  did.  It  was  simply  horrid  of 
me.  Perhaps  you  will  tell  me  about  your  cousin 
Bob  Williamson  when  I  have  finished  my 
letter?" 

"  I  will  see,"  she  said  loftily,  and  I  thanked 
her  in  anticipation.  Then  I  settled  down  as 
comfortably  as  it  is  possible  when  you  are 
swathed  in  bandages  like  a  trussed  fowl  and 
read  your  letter  over  again,  all  but  the  sym 
pathetic  bits.  Those  I  can't  manage  yet. 
Granty,  you  mustn't  make  me  weep.  The  nurses 
get  cross  when  I  do,  and  they  are  quite  right. 
Weeping  takes  it  out  of  you,  and  I  want  to  get 
strong  as  fast  as  ever  I  can. 

So  you  were  suspicious  all  along?    I  might 
279 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

have  known  it.  You  didn't  believe  what  Fan- 
chette  said  on  her  post  cards :  that  all  was  well 
with  me,  and  that  I  was  too  busy  to  write.  You 
couldn't  understand  why  Fanchette  was  mess 
ing  about  me  at  all.  That  my  last  letter  in 
formed  you  I  was  about  to  settle  down  in  the 
midst  of  funeral  cards,  and  stuffed  birds,  wool 
mats,  and  tea  caddies,  dirty  coal,  and  gaspy 
maid  servants,  sausages  and  mashed,  flowery 
walls  and  ancestors ;  and  a  lady's  maid  in  such 
a  setting  would  be  absolutely  incongruous. 

I  might  have  guessed  that  you  wouldn't  be 
deceived.  But  I  couldn't  guess  that  you  would 
be  so  utterly  foolish  as  to  rise  from  your  bed, 
announce  to  Hannah  that  you  were  going  in 
search  of  Miss  Gwenda — how  I  like  the  old  ap 
pellation — get  dressed,  order  your  trunk  to  be 
packed,  walk  downstairs,  and  faint  at  the  gar 
den  gate. 

And  your  rudeness  to  old  Hannah  and  the 
doctor  appears  to  have  been  terrible,  and  you 
have  the  credit  of  being  gentle  and  sweet! 
What  a  fraud  you  are.  I,  alone,  know  of  the 
depths  of  your  depravity. 

I  must  pause.  A  nurse  has  dashed  into  the 
room,  a  subdued  murmur  like  wind  in  forest 
trees  is  to  be  heard,  a  murmur  of  breathless 

280 


GWENDA 

anxious  nurses.  The  surgeon,  Mr.  Wynn-Shut- 
tleworth,  is  approaching.  Two  nurses  fall  upon 
my  counterpane  and  straighten  it  out,  another 
with  a  comb  goes  for  the  stout  lady's  hair.  I 
will  write  some  more  later.  The  great  man  is 
at  the  door  .  .  . 

The  great  man  is  usually  attended  on  his 
daily  round  of  the  wards  by  the  House  Surgeon, 
who  refrains  from  tapping  his  teeth  with  a 
pencil  on  these  occasions,  the  Matron,  the  Sister 
of  your  own  particular  ward,  and  two  or  three 
other  nurses.  They  body-guard  him  into  the 
room,  and  then  fall  into  attentive  attitudes  and 
hang  on  his  words.  And  quite  right  that  they 
should;  he  is  a  busy  man,  his  time  is  precious, 
he  cannot  repeat  his  instructions  more  than 
once,  yet  this  scene  always  makes  me  want  to 
laugh.  They  all  look  so  solemn  and  important. 
If,  after  attending  to  a  patient,  it  is  necessary 
for  him  to  wash  his  hands,  one  nurse  pours  the 
water  into  the  basin,  another  hands  him  the 
soap,  and  a  third  holds  the  towel  in  readiness  :— 

"A  nice  little  boy  held  a  golden  ewer 

Embossed  and  filled  with  water,  as  pure 

As  any  that  flows  between  Rheims  and  Namur, 

Which  a  nice  little  boy 

Stood  ready  to  catch 

281 


GWENDA 

In  a  fine  golden  hand-basin  made  to  match. 
Two  nice  little  boys  rather  more  grown 
Carried  lavender  water  and  eau-de-Cologne. 
And  a  nice  little  boy  had  a  nice  cake  of  soap, 
Worthy  of  washing  the  hands  of  the  Pope. 
One  little  boy  more  a  napkin  bore 
Of  the  best  white  diaper  fringed  with  pink  ..." 

I  was  softly  repeating  these  lines  to  myself 
while  Mr.  Wynn- Shuttle  worth  was  interview 
ing  Mrs.  Philpots,  the  stout  lady,  when  he 
turned  suddenly  and  said  "Eh,  what's  that?" 
And,  of  course,  I  was  covered  with  confusion. 

"Did  you  speak?"  he  demanded,  and  I  re 
plied  that  I  was  only  saying  some  poetry  to 
myself. 

"  Poetry !  what  about  ?  And  why  do  you  re 
peat  poetry  now?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  very  frightened. 

He  turned  to  the  matron  and  the  nurses. 
"  Does  this  patient  often  recite?  "  And  unex 
pectedly  I  saw  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  They  all 
shook  their  heads  and  denied  knowledge  of  my 
having  been  guilty  of  such  a  thing  before. 

"  H'm,"  he  said.  "  She  must  be  getting  on 
very  rapidly." 

"  I  am,"  I  returned  glibly. 

"  Are  you  well  enough  to  repeat  what  you 
were  saying  to  yourself  just  now?  " 

282 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  cried,  going  scarlet.  "  I — I  sim 
ply  couldn't." 

"Why  not?" 

The  eyes  of  all  were  upon  me,  the  matron's 
cold,  the  house  surgeon's  amused,  the  nurses' 
alarmed.  The  great  man  was  bandying  words 
with  me;  for  a  moment  he  had  stopped  being 
great,  and  his  eyes  were  human  and  twinkling. 

"  It  would  be  a  strain  on  my  abdominal  mus 
cles,"  I  said;  and  he  laughed  outright. 

"  H'm.  Will  you  tell  me  this — Were  your 
lines  from  *  The  Jackdaw  of  Eheims '  1  It  is 
one  of  the  few  poems  I  happen  to  know,  and  I 
thought  I  caught  a  familiar  line." 

I  nodded. 

"And  what  made  you  repeat  it  now?" 

I  lay  and  wriggled,  unable  to  answer. 

"  It  was  apropos  of  something1?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  I  thought  so.  But  let  me  give  you  a  piece 
of  advice :  Don't  always  repeat  your  poetry  out 
loud.  The  next  man  may  not  have  a  sense  of 
humour.  Good-bye,  young  lady."  And  he  went 
out  of  the  room  followed  by  his  astonished  sat 
ellites,  leaving  me  so  small  and  crushed  that  I 
felt  no  bigger  than  a  threepenny  bit. 

Your  loving  GWENDA. 

283 


LETTER   XIX 

ST.  MARGARET'S  HOSPITAL  FOR  WOMEN, 
BLOOMSBURY,  W.  C.,  Oct.  llth. 

MY  DEAR  GBANTY  : 

To-day  I  feel  strong  enough  to  tell  you  of 
how  I  left  my  husband  and  my  home,  and  the 
manner  in  which  I  arrived  here. 

You,  too,  are  stronger — thanks  to  old  Han 
nah's  careful  nursing.  Before  I  felt  it  would 
be  cruel  to  give  you  a  recital  of  my  woes  and 
suffering,  for  I  knew  that  you  would  lie  and 
suffer  too.  Impotent  to  assist  me,  you  would 
chafe  and  fret  at  your  weakness  and  helpless 
ness. 

So  I  have  tried  to  write  to  you  cheerfully. 
No,  I  haven't  tried,  for  I  have  felt  cheerful  since 
my  body  stopped  hurting  and  aching,  since  the 
grinding  horrible  pain  left  me,  since  the  nausea 
stopped,  and  the  intolerable  thirst  departed. 

It  is  all  behind  me  now,  all  the  misery  of  the 
last  few  months,  and  I  live  simply  in  the  pres 
ent,  live  from  hour  to  hour,  from  moment  to 
moment. 

284 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

Presently  Fanchette,  Mrs.  Prendergast  and 
Mr.  Peter  will  be  coming  to  see  me.  I  have  that 
to  look  forward  to,  and  their  visit  will  bring 
me  great  pleasure.  On  two  afternoons  a  week 
we  are  allowed  to  see  our  friends  for  three 
whole  hours,  and  eagerly  we  look  forward  to 
Wednesday;  and  that  passed,  we  as  eagerly 
look  forward  to  Sunday. 

Mrs.  Philpots  receives  Mr.  Philpots,  a  melan 
choly  looking  man  with  a  black  beard,  and  some 
little  Philpots.  A  screen  is  placed  between  our 
beds  so  that  we  may  each  have  our  party  in 
privacy.  Mrs.  Philpots'  party  must  sit  in  semi- 
darkness,  as  her  bed  is  the  farther  side  from 
the  window,  so  with  a  tall  black  screen  in  be 
tween  there  cannot  be  much  light.  Perhaps  it 
is  just  as  well,  for  I  feel  sure  Mrs.  Philpots 
cannot  look  her  best  in  bed  or  Mr.  Philpots 
would  not  have  married  her. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  I  look  nice,  but  I  im 
agine,  and  hope,  that  I  look  nicer  than  Mrs. 
Philpots.  Our  hair  is  tied  into  two  plaits  so 
that  the  backs  of  our  heads  may  rest  comfort 
ably  on  our  pillows.  Mine  makes  plaits  of  re 
spectable  length,  and  are  tied  with  pink  ribbons. 
Fanchette  insisted  upon  this,  as  she  believes 
that  pink  is  a  becoming  bedroom  colour,  and  I 

285 


GWENDA 

have  a  pink  bedjacket,  and  a  pink  ribbon  tickles 
my  throat.  I  only  wear  the  last  when  I  am  ex 
pecting  a  visit  from  Fanchette.  Mrs.  Philpots' 
hair  is  sandy  and  thin,  and  her  plaits  remind 
me  of  two  radishes.  She  also  wears  pink  rib 
bons,  and,  as  you  are  aware,  pink  does  not  tone 
with  sandy  hair.  Fanchette,  in  an  audible 
whisper — because,  though  you  can't  see  over 
the  top  of  the  screen  you  can  hear  through  it 
— wonders  why  she  doesn't  wear  green  or  blue 
ribbons.  She  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Philpots 
sideways  as  she  entered  the  room. 

Fanchette  will  arrive  first  to-day.  Oh,  she 
has  been  good  to  me.  I  had  not  the  faintest 
conception  that  she  cared  for  me  any  more  than 
she  cared  for  her  new  chignon  which  has  just 
come  into  fashion.  But  she  has  a  heart  of  gold, 
and  is  as  faithful  as  the  hound  Gelert. 

I  must  go  back  to  that  last  evening  at  Prince's 
Gate,  and  it  seems  so  long  ago  that  I  begin  to 
wonder  if  it  belonged  to  another  life.  That  for 
one  brief  spell  I  was  transmigrated  from  a 
beautiful  state  at  Silvercombe  to  one  of  misery, 
and  am  now  returning  to  my  old  existence. 

You  will  recollect  that  as  I  was  ending  my 
letter  to  you  that  night,  Lionel  came  into  the 
room. 

286 


GWENDA 

He  was  in  evening  dress,  and  looked  hand 
some  and  well.  He  neither  greeted  nor  offered 
to  kiss  me,  for  which  I  was  grateful  to  him. 
I  might  have  been  seated  there  for  a  week. 
He  remarked  that  the  night  was  cold,  and  he 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  there  was  a  frost  and 
would  I  like  a  fire. 

I  told  him  no  as  I  was  going  to  bed  and  had 
only  waited  up  to  speak  to  him. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  make  a  scene," 
he  said  with  eyebrows  raised  in  horror,  "  be 
cause  if  you  are,  I  am  going  out  again.  I  have 
been  dining  with  Lady  Eivers,  and  only  re 
turned  because  I  thought  you  might  feel  neg 
lected." 

I  shook  my  head  and  laughed,  laughed  at  the 
stupidity  of  his  words.  Did  he  think  he  could 
hurt  me  now? 

"  You  are  not  clever,"  I  said  gravely.  "  A 
clever  man  would  not  have  said  that.  It  was  so 
obvious." 

His  face  became  dark  with  anger.  "  Did  you 
return  home  to  tell  me  that  f  "  he  cried. 

"  No,"  I  replied  slowly,  for  my  heart  was 
beating  painfully.  "  I  returned  home  in  order 
to  leave  it.  To  tell  you  that  I  was  going  away 
for  good.  I  thought  it  only  fair  and  courteous 

287 


GWENDA 

to  inform  you  of  this.  I  am  your  wife  and  I 
must  endeavour  to  be  considerate  to  you  till  I 
cease  to  be  your  wife,  and  there  were  my  things 
to  collect  and  pack." 

"You  are  talking  like  a  tragedy  queen,  my 
dear,"  he  sneered. 

"  No,  I  am  not.  If  you  reflect  upon  it,  tragedy 
queens  indulge  in  heroics.  They  rave  and  weep 
and  plead  and  hurl  reproaches  about.  I  am 
doing  none  of  these  things.  I  am  simply  stat 
ing  a  plain  fact.  I  am  going  away.  I  cannot 
live  with  you.  Whether  you  could  continue  to 
live  with  me  I  do  not  take  into  consideration. 
I  simply  know  that  I  cannot  live  with  you  and 
be  happy.  I  am  young  and  wish  for  happiness, 
it  is  the  birthright  of  each  of  us,  therefore  I  go 
to  seek  it.  We  made  a  mistake,  we  must  undo 
it,  it  is  possible." 

I  walked  toward  the  door,  but  he  stood  in 
front  of  me  barring  the  way. 

"  You  cannot  divorce  me,"  he  hissed.  "  There 
is  no  proof." 

Again  I  laughed  at  his  own  condemnation. 
He  was  certainly  not  clever. 

"Don't  you  want  to  be  divorced?"  I  asked. 
"  I  hadn't  thought  about  it.  I  was  going  away 
because  we  were  not  happy  together,  for  no 

288 


GWENDA 

other  reason.  I  accused  you  of  nothing."  I 
looked  at  him  steadily.  "  Neither  do  I  accuse 
you  of  anything  but  indifference  to  me;  not  of 
cruelty,  nor  unfaithfulness,  nor  drunkenness. 
A  man  seems  to  be  under  the  impression  that 
it  must  be  for  one  of  these  only  that  a  woman 
leaves  him,  but  it  is  not  so.  There  are  her 
pride  and  her  own  indifference  to  be  reckoned 
with.  Yes,  her  own  indifference.  A  woman 
finds  it  hideously  difficult  to  live  with  a  man 
she  has  ceased  to  love.  Her  life  at  home  is 
everything  to  her — when  that  becomes  unhappy 
there  is  nothing  left  for  her  but  to  start  all 
over  again." 

"And  you  have  ceased  to  love  me?  I  am 
curious,  that  is  all." 

"  What  do  you  think?  "  I  laughed  at  the  ques 
tion.  "  Should  I  be  going  away  if  I  had  the 
slightest  affection  for  you?  You  might  hate 
me,  but  if  I  still  loved  you  ever  so  little  I  should 
remain  and  hope  on,  hope  to  win  you  back  again. 
We  women  are  built  that  way,  we  are  mostly 
very  faithful  in  our  affections,  it  is  no  credit  to 
us,  it  is  a  scheme  of  nature  for  the  protection  of 
the  children.  But  I  don't  care  for  you.  I  loved 
you  once  greatly,  but  you  have  killed  it  slowly 
and  surely  till  it  is  as  dead  as  a  stone." 

289 


GWENDA 

"  In  what  way  ?  again  I  am  curious."  He 
offered  me  a  chair. 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  My  voice  rose,  "  In  every 
way.  By  your  indifference— 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  interrupted,  "  does  a  wom 
an  expect  to  be  loved  and  petted  and  kissed 
from  morning  till  night?  " 

"  She  expects  a  little  affection  from  her  hus 
band — at  any  rate  during  the  first  few  months 
of  her  married  life.  Her  new  life  is  so  strange 
to  her.  She  has  probably  been  taken  from  a 
home  where  she  has  received  much  tender 
ness  and  consideration  from  her  parents.  She 
misses  her  mother,  or  the  one  who  has  stood 
to  her  for  mother.  She  feels  a  little  lonely, 
everything  is  new  to  her.  It  is  then  she  turns 
to  her  husband,  and  usually  finds  the  sympathy 
and  protection  she  needs.  But  I—  My  voice 
broke,  and  for  some  moments  I  battled  with  my 
tears.  I  was  tired,  desperately  tired,  after  my 
journey,  and  slowly  but  inexorably  the  old  pain 
was  coming  back.  At  first  I  hardly  realised 
what  this  meant.  I  forgot  Mr.  Drexel's  warn 
ing  that  the  next  time  it  meant  an  operation. 
I  only  desired  to  make  Lionel  understand  be 
fore  I  left  him  for  ever. 

"Well?"  he  said. 

290 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"  Ah !  "  I  cried,  "  you  know.  You  understand, 
though  you  won't  admit  it.  You  found  me  dull, 
and  you  let  me  see  it.  You  found  me  dowdy, 
and  again  you  let  me  see  it.  Perhaps  I  was 
sensitive — I  was  not  well,  but  there  is  a  way 
of  telling  unpleasant  truths  to  people  we  love 
that  prevents  their  feeling  the  hurt  of  it;  you 
did  not  find  this  way.  I  told  you  I  was  sorry 
for  my  treatment  of  your — friend.  It  was  dif 
ficult,  but  I  cared  for  you.  You  refused  to  be 
friends.  You  allowed  me  for  nights  to  eat  out 
my  heart  in  the  silence  of  my  own  room.  You 
packed  me  off  to  Silvercombe  alone.  Then  came 
the  crowning  insult:  you  brought  that  woman 
down  to  Glenfinlas,  and  I  did  not  reproach  you. 
I  was  civil,  almost  friendly  to  her.  I  wrote  you 
a  little  note  the  night  before  you  left,  once  again 
asking  you  to  come  to  me  and  we  would  let 
bygones  be  bygones.  You  took  no  notice  and 
that  was  the  end.  And — "  again  my  voice 
broke,  and  I  leant  against  the  chair  in  my  pain, 
grinding  my  teeth  for  control,  and  presently  I 
mastered  it.  "  And  to-night  you  admit  your 
guilt  with  Lady  Eivers,  and — you  ask  me  calmly 
and  without  shame  in  what  way  you  have  for 
feited  my  love  and  respect." 

"  I  am  no  different  from  lots  of  other  men." 
291 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"And  is  that  your  only  defence!"  I  blazed. 
"  And  it  is  a  lie.  You  are  different.  Men  and 
women  sin  and  are  ashamed.  You  have  no 
shame.  There  is  something  lacking  in  you.  It 
is  the  kindest  inference  to  draw.  I  verily  be 
lieve  you  are  not  quite  in  your  right  mind. 
You — "  I  had  to  stop  for  my  voice  failed  me.  I 
was  becoming  desperately  ill  and  the  pain  was 
frightful.  "  Eing — "  I  gasped. 

For  an  instant  he  stood  over  me  black  with 
fury,  his  hands  clenched.  Was  he  going  to 
choke  the  life  out  of  me,  I  wondered  curious 
ly,  and  hardly  cared.  Then — he  crossed  the 
room  and  rang  the  bell  violently.  It  scarce 
ly  seemed  a  second  before  Balbriggan  ap 
peared. 

"  Fetch  Fanchette,"  I  whispered,  "  at  once." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  I "  Lionel  asked. 
"  Do  you  want  a  doctor?  "  He  sounded  fright 
ened  through  his  anger. 

"  No.    Please  leave  me." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Will  you  leave  me  ?  " 

He  did  not  move,  and,  somehow,  bent  double 
with  the  pain,  I  managed  to  get  to  my  room 
which  Fanchette  was  just  leaving. 

"  I  want  my  bag  at  once,"  I  said,  "  and  my 
292 


GWENDA 

hat  and  cloak.  Tell  Balbriggan  to  summon  a 
cab  while  I  get  ready.  I  am  ill." 

She  set  up  a  cry.  "  Don't,"  I  commanded 
harshly.  "  I  want  your  help.  I  am  going  to  a 
hospital  now.  Will  you  come?  Don't  waste 
time,  I  am  in  great  pain  and  need  all  my 
strength." 

Within  five  minutes  we  were  in  a  taxicab. 
Fanchette  calm,  helpful,  resourceful.  We  drove 
straight  to  a  post  office,  and  she  examined  a 
directory.  We  never  thought  or  remembered 
that  the  London  cabbies  know  most  things. 
"  St.  Margaret's  Hospital  for  Women  "  she  di 
rected  him.  And  after  that  I  knew  little  more 
till  I  was  on  a  couch  in  a  lift  going  up  to  the 
operating  theatre,  and  then  my  senses  returned 
with  sickening  and  awful  clearness. 

I  must  finish  another  time. 

October  12th.  —  Three  o'clock  had  barely 
struck  yesterday  when  my  first  visitor  appeared 
—Fanchette.  Fanchette,  in  the  glory  of  a  new 
toque  with  alarming  outstanding  wings,  and  the 
most  rustling  petticoat  she  has  yet  achieved. 
She  fell  on  her  knees  in  her  customary  French 
fashion  and  kissed  my  hands. 

Then  with  fine  scorn  she  whispered  that  the 
293 


GWENDA 

lady  in  the  next  bed  looked  less  attractive  than 
ever  this  afternoon. 

"  Why?  "  I  whispered  back. 

"  Her  nightdress  is  of  longcloth,"  said  Fan- 
chette  succinctly. 

"  Well,  it's  warmer  than  nainsook  this  weath 
er,"  I  suggested. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  dismissed 
Mrs.  Philpots.  She  took  little  interest  in  peo 
ple  who  wore  longcloth  nightdresses,  and  I  won 
dered  what  she  would  have  thought  of  your 
warm  flannel  ones. 

"  And  how  is  Monsieur  le  Boots  I  "  I  enquired, 
sniffing  at  the  lovely  bunch  of  roses  she  had 
brought. 

"  I  write  to  him  no  more,  Madame,"  she  re 
plied  briefly. 

"  You  write  to  him  no  more !  "  In  my  excite 
ment  I  turned  on  my  left  side,  and  she  implored 
me  to  go  back.  "  I  can  lie  on  either  side  now," 
I  said  grandly,  "  for  a  little  while.  Why  have 
you  ceased  to  write?  " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  raise  false  hopes  in 
him." 

"  False  hopes,"  I  echoed.  "  Aren't  you  going 
to  marry  Monsieur  le  Boots  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame." 

294 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

"  Dear  me,"  I  said.  "  Whatever  has  made 
you  change  your  mind?  " 

"  I  have  reasons,  Madame." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"  I  am  going  to  live  with  you,  Madame,  if  you 
will  permit  it  ? "  She  pulled  out  the  bows  of 
my  ribbon  of  the  nearest  plait  to  her. 

"  But  I  can't  afford  it,"  I  said.  "  I  have  no 
money  now.  I  shan't  be  able  to  keep  a  maid. 
You  know — you  have  guessed,  Fanchette,  that 
I  am  not  returning  to  Prince's  Gate." 

"  Yes,  Madame,"  her  voice  was  practical.  "  I 
left  last  week." 

"  You  have  left?  I  did  not  know.  I  thought 
you  would  stay  your  month  out." 

"  I  was  very  miserable  and  lonely  and  had 
nothing  to  do.  I  slipped  out  quietly.  I  have 
comfortable  rooms  near  here.  I  come  each  day 
to  enquire  for  you,  and  the  time  passes.  I  wait 
for  you  to  come  out,  then  I  am  contented." 

"  Fanchette —  Suddenly  I  burst  into  tears 
and  laid  my  hand  on  hers. 

She  was  very  distressed,  and  implored  me 
not  to  weep.  "  Mrs.  Prendergast  and  Mr. 
Drexel  will  be  coming,  is  it  not?  And  your 
nose  will  be  a  little  red,  Madame." 

I  laughed  through  my  tears.  "  Fanchette  you 
295 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

are  good  to  me.  But  I  can't  have  you.  I 
shouldn't  be  able  to  pay  you  your  wages.  And 
at  first  I  go  to  Silvercombe,"  I  said. 

"  And  could  I  not  go  too  ?  I  would  be  useful 
while  you  got  quite  strong.  And  I  love  the  sea 
very  much.  You  will  let  me  go  ? "  She  was 
very  beseeching. 

"  Perhaps.  I  will  write  to  my  Aunt.  I  should 
like  to  have  you.  Fanchette — have  you — do  you 
ever  see  the  Master?" 

"  Only  once  since  I  left.  Madame  I  must 
be  going,  Mrs.  Prendergast  will  be  here  soon." 
She  was  evidently  embarrassed. 

"  Where  did  you  see  the  Master — I  mean  Mr. 
Conyngham?  you  have  left  his  service." 

"  In  Piccadilly,  Madame." 

"  Was  he  alone?  " 

"  No,  Madame." 

"  Tell  me  who  was  with  him.  You  need  not 
mind." 

"  A  lady."  She  flushed  crimson  and  rose 
to  go. 

"  Was  the  lady  very  beautiful?  " 

"  Some  might  think  so.  Madame,  when  will 
you  be  leaving  here?  I  must  give  a  week's 
notice  at  my  rooms."  She  was  not  going  to 
discuss  Lady  Eivers,  and  she  was  right. 

296 


GWENDA 

"  I  leave  on  the  18th  if  I  am  strong  enough. 
My  bed  is  wanted." 

"  And  I  shall  travel  with  you  to  Silver- 
combe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  please,  Fanchette."  And  with  a  smile 
of  triumph  she  left  me. 

Mrs.  Prendergast  and  Peter  Drexel  came  to 
gether,  laden  with  flowers,  lovely  autumn  flow 
ers  with  their  pungent  delicious  scent.  How 
did  they  guess  how  much  more  I  loved  them 
than  hothouse  exotics?  Dahlias,  chrysanthe 
mums,  Michaelmas  daisies,  hollyhocks.  They 
placed  them  on  the  bed,  and  they  laughed  at 
my  indifference  to  the  earwigs  which  crawled 
from  the  dahlias. 

"  The  only  insect  I  object  to  is  a  wood-louse," 
I  said. 

"  Gwenda,  you  look  better.  Ever  so  much 
better,  doesn't  she  Peter?"  Mrs.  Prendergast 
exclaimed,  pleasure  in  her  voice. 

He  regarded  me  critically,  and  for  a  moment 
held  my  hot  hand  in  his  own  cool  one. 

"  She  looks  better  simply  because  she  is  so 
flushed  and  excited.  Her  hand  is  like  a  burning 
coal.  Why  do  you  get  in  such  a  state?"  He 
frowned  and  looked  at  me  severely. 

"  Did  you  leave  your  patients  simply  because 
297 


GWENDA 

you  were  in  a  bad  temper  and  wanted  to  vent 
it  upon  somebody  who  was  defenceless  ? "  I 
asked. 

He  laughed  and  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  bed. 
"  You  are  begging  the  question.  Why  are  you 
so  flushed?" 

"  Fanchette  insists  upon  remaining  in  my 
service  and  is  going  to  Silvercombe  with  me. 
The  news  is  exciting."  This  was  the  first  time 
I  had  hinted  in  any  way  that  I  was  not  return 
ing  to  Lionel,  but  I  knew  that  they  knew.  Had 
they  not  been  like  brother  and  sister  to  me  dur 
ing  my  illness?  Their  extraordinary  kindness, 
their  attention,  their  sympathy  had  touched  me 
beyond  words. 

"  Going  to  Silvercombe !  But  I  had  counted 
on  your  coming  to  me.  It  is  all  settled.  My 
husband  and  I  want  you  very  much,  and  Peter 
will  take  care  of  you,  won't  you  Peter? " 

Peter  will  take  care  of  you!  How  comfort 
ing  it  sounded.  I  looked  at  his  strong  thin  face, 
his  pleasant  humorous  eyes,  his  alert  confident 
person,  and  I  knew  what  good  care  he  could 
take  of  a  person,  but  I  shook  my  head. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,  Jane,"  for  so  she 
made  me  call  her  now,  "  frightfully  kind  of  you, 
but  I  must  go  to  Granty.  She  is  expecting  me, 

298 


GWENDA 

counting  the  moments  till  I  go  she  says,  and  she 
has  been  ill,  too.  We  must  get  strong  together. 
And  Silvercombe  is  the  only  place  I  fancy.  In 
November  it  is  wonderfully  attractive,  there  are 
late  flowering  roses,  pansies  and  snapdragons. 
There  are  bits  of  gorse,  streaks  of  flame  here 
and  there  in  the  brown  heather.  There  will  be 
more  sunshine  than  in  London,  and  that  is  what 
I  need.  I  feel  like  a  bleached  stick  of  celery. 
Thank  you  all  the  same." 

"  It  is  a  long  journey,  much  too  long.  Mr. 
Wynn- Shuttle  worth  won't  allow  it,"  she  said 
irritably. 

"  He  won't  know,  and  he  will  be  glad  to  wash 
his  hands  of  me,"  and  I  proceeded  to  tell  them 
of  "  The  Jackdaw  of  Eheims  "  and  his  finding 
me  out  in  my  nasty  irony. 

Peter  laughed  immoderately  at  first,  and  I 
distinctly  heard  Mrs.  Philpots  remark  how 
noisy  we  were — then  he  became  grave. 

"  It  is  necessary,"  he  said.  "  It  may  seem  ab 
surd  to  you,  and  perhaps  it  is  carried  to  an  ex 
treme,  but  Wynn-Shuttleworth  is  a  busy  man, 
everything  must  be  in  readiness  for  him,  he 
can't  be  kept  waiting." 

"  Of  course,"  I  returned,  "  you  will  stick  up 
for  your  profession,  and  nobody  wants  him  to 

299 


GWENDA 

be  kept  waiting,  but  need  the  nurses  make  such 
a  fuss  and  worry  the  poor  patients  so  much? 
I  was  hot  the  other  day,  it  was  a  close  steamy 
morning,  I  wanted  the  counterpane  down,  it 
was  heavy,  and  the  nurse  wouldn't  allow  it  till 
after  Mr.  Wynn- Shuttle  worth  had  been.  The 
bed  wouldn't  look  so  nice.  Another  nurse 
scolded  me  because  I  dropped  some  crumbs 
when  I  was  having  my  lunch,  it  is  difficult 
to  eat  when  you  are  lying  flat.  She  whisked 
them  away  from  under  my  nose  with  a  table 
napkin  and  remarked  I  might  be  a  little  girl 
of  six." 

Peter  smiled  and  said  I  exaggerated. 

"  I  don't,"  I  returned  vehemently.  "  There  is 
altogether  too  much  red  tapeism,  everything  too 
cut  and  dried,  too  much  law  and  order.  I  felt 
drowsy  one  night.  I  had  been  in  a  good  deal  of 
pain  that  day — perhaps  you  know  all  our  backs 
are  rubbed  with  ether  at  night  to  prevent  bed 
sores?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  he  replied  dryly.  "  I  have 
been  in  hospitals  before  now." 

"  It  is  unkind  to  speak  to  an  invalid  in  such 
a  manner,"  I  observed. 

"  You  don't  sound  like  one." 

"  I  am  so  tired  of  you  two  quarrelling  about 
300 


GWENDA 

hospitals,"  interjected  Mrs.  Prendergast  plain 
tively,  "  Can't  we  talk  about  something  else  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  her  brother  with  decision,  "  we  are 
going  to  thrash  this  out.  Please  continue.  You 
felt  drowsy  one  night  after  a  good  deal  of 
pain " 

"  And  I  asked  the  nurse  on  duty  if  she  would 
mind,  for  once,  doing  my  back  before  the  time 
was  due  for  it  to  be  done.  And  she  replied  it 
was  out  of  the  question  as  she  was  going  to 
her  supper.  I  pleaded  with  her,  but  she  was 
inexorable.  I  must  tell  you  this  operation 
takes  about  half  a  minute.  One  nurse  raises 
you  while  another  nurse  dabs  on  the  ether. 
I  dropped  asleep.  She  woke  me  up  later. 
'  Now,'  she  said,  '  I  am  ready.'  I  never  closed 
my  eyes  that  night." 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  window.  His  back 
looked  very  square  and  irritated.  "  That  nurse 
was  a  bad  nurse.  She  will  never  get  on.  To  a 
dozen  good  nurses,  there  may  be  one  bad  one." 

"  Many  more  than  that,"  I  interrupted. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you.  And  perhaps  you 
forget  that  this  place  is  kept  up  by  charity." 

Suddenly  I  felt  ashamed.  "  I  forgot,"  I  said 
humbly.  "  I  am  sorry." 

He  strode  back  to  the  bed.  "  I  didn't  mean 
301 


GWENDA 

that,"  he  said  roughly.  "You  misunderstood 
me.  I — I  am  not  quite  such  a  brute.  What  I 
meant  was,  that  hospitals  can't  afford  skilled 
trained  nurses  throughout.  There  is  a  sister — 
a  clever  reliable,  thoroughly  trained  woman,  at 
the  head  of  each  ward,  the  rest  are  learning, 
being  trained.  Some  are  probationers,  they 
have  no  difficult  work  allotted  to  them;  then 
come  the  ones  who  have  been  at  it  a  year  or 
two.  They  are  bound  to  make  mistakes.  The 
hours  are  long,  there  is  no  pay  or  very  little, 
nurses  like  doctors  are  but  human.  They  don't 
pretend  to  be  infallible — at  least,  the  sensible 
ones  don't,"  he  broke  off  with  a  laugh,  and  gave 
me  his  hand.  "  I  must  go,"  he  said.  "  My  time 
is  up,  and  I  am  sorry  for  you,  don't  think  that 
I  am  not.  You  are  a  brave  plucky  girl.  You 
shouldn't  be  here  by  rights,  but  you  might  be 
in  a  worse  place.  Good-bye."  For  a  moment 
he  held  my  hand,  "  May  I  come  again?  " 

"  Bather,"  I  replied.  "  You  are  as  bracing 
as  Blackpool,  and  I  like  being  scolded." 

"  Scolded !  "  he  raised  his  brows  comically. 

"Yes,  you  have  simply  badgered  me,  but  I 
don't  mind." 

When  he  had  gone  I  said:  "I  am  afraid  I 
have  vexed  him  and  that  he  thinks  me  a  poor 

302 


GWENDA 

sort  of  creature,  and  I  don't  want  him  to  have 
that  impression." 

Mrs.  Prendergast  looked  at  me,  and  then  she 
said  a  very  astonishing  thing. 

"  I  was  unaware  that  you  posed,  Gwenda. 
Peter  worships  the  very  ground  you  walk  on, 
and  you  know  it." 

I  lay  and  stared  at  her — gasping. 

"  Do  you  pretend  that  you  didn't  know  Peter 
was  in  love  with  you? " 

I  shook  my  head,  too  amazed  to  speak. 

"Honestly?" 

"  Honestly." 

"  And  now  you  know  it,  are  you  glad?  " 

I  considered  this  for  a  moment  or  two,  and 
then  I  said  simply  "  Very  glad." 

"And  are  you  in  love  with  him?  You  will 
forgive  my  asking  you  such  very  straight  ques 
tions?" 

"  No.  Not  at  all,  I  never  thought  of  such  a 
thing,"  I  returned. 

"  And  yet  you  are  glad  he  is  in  love  with 
you?" 

I  nodded.  "It  is  such  an  honour.  Your 
brother  is  so  very  nice." 

"  H'm,"  she  said.  "  You  are  a  strange  girl. 
Do  you  realise  what  this  means  to  Peter? " 

303 


GWENDA 

"  Means  to  him1?  "  I  echoed. 

"  It  has  glorified  his  life  and  made  him 
wretched,  glorified  and  darkened  his  life  at  one 
and  the  same  moment.  He  is  a  changed  man. 
You  are  married.  You  are  beyond  his  reach. 
He  is  not  strong  enough  not  to  see  you,  and 
when  he  does  his  depression  afterward  is  dread 
ful  to  see.  He  knows  that  I  know.  I  have  al 
ways  seen  through  Peter,  he  is  as  transparent 
and  simple  as  a  child.  And  it  makes  it  worse 
for  him  knowing — "  she  hesitated. 

"  Knowing  that  I  have  left  my  husband." 

"  Exactly."  She  put  her  hand  on  mine  and 
stroked  it  gently.  "  Gwenda,  can  I  talk  to  you 
about  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"About  what?" 

"  About  your  husband.  We  knew  him  for 
years.  We  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that  he 
could  behave  so — cruelly.  Does  it  pain  you  to 
speak  of  him?  " 

"  Yes,  it  does.  I  know  you  mean  it  kindly — 
but  the  hurt  is  too  great  yet — I — "  I  struggled 
for  control.  "  I  try  not  to  think  of  him.  I  put 
him  from  me  as  much  as  possible.  Sometimes 
I  sob  through  the  long  hours  of  the  night  till 
I  fall  asleep  from  exhaustion.  He  has  never 
enquired  for  me,  never  sent  a  message  to  me. 

304 


GWENDA 

I  hardly  think  I  expected  either,  but — oh,  how 
it  hurts.  I  can't  talk  about  it.  Doesn't  it  seem 
strange — my  husband  hates  and  doesn't  want 
me,  and  Peter,  you  tell  me,  loves  me  and  wants 
me  badly,  and  I  can't  be  with  one  or  the  other." 

"  And  from  what  you  say,"  she  returned, 
"  you  don't  want  to  be  with  Peter?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  with  either.  I  once  loved 
Lionel  as  much  as  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to 
love  a  man,  now,  I  hate  him.  Peter  I  have 
never  learned  to  love,  I  couldn't  be  loving  one 
man  when  I  have  been  fighting  to  regain  the 
affection  of  another.  It  is  impossible.  I  am 
glad  and  proud  beyond  words  that  your  broth 
er  cares  for  me,  I  won't  even  pretend  that  I 
am  sorry  that  he  does,  for  I  am  not,  it  gives  me 
keen  pleasure  to  know  that  he  loves  me.  If  I 
were  free  I  should  wish  that  I  could  return  it, 
but  it  seems  a  little  hopeless  ever  thinking  of 
such  a  thing  in  the  present  position  of  affairs. 
Doesn't  it?  "  I  finished  with  a  laugh. 

"  It  does  rather,"  she  agreed.  "  And  yet  I 
can't  understand  any  girl  not  caring  for  Peter." 

"  You  are  prejudiced,"  I  said,  "  he  is  your 
brother.  If  I  had  no  husband,  I  might  think 
about  it,  but  as  it  is,  it  is  a  waste  of  time."  And 
then  I  changed  the  conversation  to  other  topics. 

305 


GWENDA 

I  felt  Peter  would  be  anything  but  pleased  at 
our  discussing  him;  or  did  he  guess  that  his 
sister  would  some  day  tell  me?  My  cheeks 
burnt  at  the  thought.  Did  he  want  me  to  know  ? 

Granty,  it  doesn't  seem  even  fair  to  him  to 
tell  you,  but  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  it  is 
possible  for  a  man  to  love  me. 

I  am  very  feminine,  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  world  will  smile  behind  my  back  and  say 
the  failure  of  my  marriage  is  my  own  fault,  and 
it  hurts  my  pride.  "What  does  it  matter?" 
you  will  reply  in  your  practical  fashion,  "  what 
the  world  says.  Don't  be  self-conscious  and 
egotistical  and  make  no  mistake:  the  world 
doesn't  bother  its  head  about  you  half  so  much 
as  you  imagine." 

Do  you  remember  saying  to  me  once  when  I 
was  very  young  —  perhaps  I  was  eighteen: 
"  Youth  imagines  it  is  the  hub  of  the  universe. 
Age  knows  that  in  the  scheme  of  things  it  has 
played  as  small  a  part  as  the  minutest  grain 
of  sand." 

To-night  I  shall  go  to  sleep  saying  to  myself 
"  I  am  only  a  grain  of  sand,  I  am  only  a  grain 
of  sand." 

To-morrow  I  feel  there  will  be  a  letter  from 
you,  and  within  a  week's  time,  if  I  continue  to 

306 


GWENDA 

progress,  I  shall  be  with  you.  I  shall  lay  my 
head  on  your  dear  pink  shawl,  inhale  its  fa 
miliar  lavender  scent,  and  look  into  your  serene 
blue  eyes. 

Good-night, 

GWENDA. 

But  I  am  not  getting  on  so  well  as  I  did.    I 
am  always  so  hot  and  yet  the  weather  is  cold. 


307 


LETTER   XX 

ST.  MARGARET'S  HOSPITAL  FOR  WOMEN 
BLOOMSBURY,  W.  C.,  Oct.  13th. 

MY  DEAR  GRANTY  : 

I  notice  you  say  nothing  of  Lionel  in  your  let 
ter,  and  I  think  I  know  why.  You  still,  perhaps, 
feel  that  I  am  like  that  woman  in  the  Police 
Court.  Nobody  shall  abuse  my  husband  but 
myself!  But  no,  not  now.  My  loyalty  is  gone. 
How  could  it  remain  with  me  ?  I  am  not  a  saint 
as  you  well  know.  I  have  strong  passions. 
Sometimes  I  feel  I  could  kill  Lionel,  choke  the 
life  out  of  him ;  and  were  I  to  see  Lady  Rivers 
dying  in  a  ditch  I  would  give  her  no  hand  to 
help  her  out.  So  write  as  you  will.  Let  your 
self  go.  Say  all  the  things  I  haven't  the 
strength  to  say  because  of  my  beating  pulses 
and  fevered  brain. 

Mr.  Wynn-Shuttleworth  wonders  at  times 
why  my  temperature  is  up.  I  see  him  examine 
the  chart  above  my  bed  with  knitted  brow. 
"What  has  she  been  doing?"  he  asks.  The 
nurse  shakes  fyer  head — "  nothing,  Sir." 

308 


GWENDA 

How  can  I  say :  "  I  am  lying  here  a  helpless 
log  with  thoughts  that  would  frighten  you  were 
you  to  know  them.  In  my  impotent  rage  I  dig 
my  nails  into  my  hands  and  bury  my  face  in 
my  pillow  to  keep  from  crying  out  curses  and 
recriminations." 

"  She  is  of  an  excitable  temperament,"  the 
great  man  says,  "  keep  her  quiet." 

Keep  her  quiet!  I  laugh  hysterically.  The 
great  man  frowns.  "  As  long  as  your  tempera 
ture  is  up,  you  don't  leave  this  place,"  he  pro 
nounces,  and  at  once  I  am  calm.  I  couldn't 
stand  much  more  of  Mrs.  Philpots,  and  I  pic 
ture  myself  lying  at  your  side,  my  head  against 
a  cool  linen  pillow-case  and  the  sound  of  the 
sea  in  my  ears. 

You  ask  me  why  did  I  fly  to  a  hospital  instead 
of  to  a  Nursing  Home. 

I  had  very  little  money  of  my  own.  All  that 
belonged  to  Lionel  I  left  on  my  dressing-table 
with  the  jewels  that  Lionel  had  given  me — the 
showy  necklace,  my  engagement  ring,  the  dia 
mond  pendant,  even  my  wedding  ring.  Do  the 
people  here  wonder  why  the  third  finger  of 
my  left  hand  is  bare?  Perhaps  it  was  foolish 
and  dramatic  of  me  to  leave  the  ring,  but  I  felt 
I  should  be  soiled  were  I  to  keep  anything  that 

309 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

had  belonged  to  him.  And  you  must  remember 
that  I  was  nearly  demented  with  pain  that  night. 
As  in  a  dream  I  heard  Fanchette  talking  to  the 
hospital  officials,  and  found  myself  being  car 
ried  on  a  sort  of  stretcher  to  a  room,  undressed, 
and  put  into  long  woollen  sea  boots,  my  own 
nightdress,  a  flannel  jacket,  and  a  pink  head 
flannel;  and  then  being  placed  on  a  couch  and 
smothered  with  blankets  and  wheeled  to  a  lift. 
And  then  because  the  pain  was  so  excruciating 
I  set  up  a  shrill  laugh  to  stop  myself  from 
screaming,  and  the  lift  man  and  a  nurse  stared 
at  me  in  amazement,  and  the  nurse  said  I  must 
calm  myself  and  be  good  and  not  be  frightened. 
And  then — well,  Henley  tells  you  what  hap 
pened  next — 

"You  are  carried  in  a  basket, 
Like  a  carcase  from  the  shambles 
To  the  theatre,  a  cockpit 
Where  they  stretch  you  on  a  table. 

Then  they  bid  you  close  your  eyelids, 
And  they  mask  you  with  a  napkin, 
And  the  anaesthetic  reaches 
Hot  and  subtle  through  your  being. 

And  you  gasp  and  reel  and  shudder 
In  a  rushing  swaying  rapture, 
While  the  voices  at  your  elbow 
Fade — receding — fainter — farther. 
310 


GWENDA 

Lights  about  you  shower  and  tumble 
And  your  blood  seems  crystallizing — 
Edged  and  vibrant  yet  within  you 
Racked  and  hurried  back  and  forward. 

Then  the  lights  grow  fast  and  furious, 
And  you  hear  a  noise  of  waters, 
And  you  wrestle,  blind  and  dizzy, 
In  an  agony  of  effort, 

Till  a  sudden  lull  accepts  you, 
And  you  sound  an  utter  darkness  .  .  . 
And  awaken  .  .  .  with  a  struggle  .  .  . 
On  a  hushed,  attentive  audience." 

But  I  didn't  awaken  on  a  hushed,  attentive 
audience. 

I  woke  to  the  sound  of  loud  groans  (Mrs. 
Philpots  had  also  been  operated  on  that  after 
noon)  and  the  beating  of  something — afterward 
I  found  Mrs.  P.  was  thumping  her  locker  by 
her  bed  with  a  fan.  And  I  wondered  what  had 
happened  and  where  I  could  be.  Beneath  my 
chin  rested  a  small  china  bowl — you  can  imagine 
for  what,  and  over  me  was  a  large  cage  arrange 
ment  to  keep  the  bedclothes  from  pressing  on 
the  wound,  and  I  felt  so  hideously  sick  and  ill 
that  I  would  have  gladly  died.  Presently  as  my 
senses  became  clearer  I  found  I  was  lying  quite 
flat  without  any  pillow,  and  that  I  was  still  in 
horrible  pain. 

311 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

A  nurse  bent  over  the  bed  and  spoke  to  me, 
but  I  felt  too  badly  to  reply,  then  a  large  im 
pressive  man  (Mr.  Wynn-Shuttleworth)  felt  my 
pulse,  said  I  would  do,  and  bustled  away;  and 
for  an  hour  or  two  I  lay  in  a  half  stupor  racked 
by  tearing  pain  and  listening  to  the  cries  of 
the  woman  in  the  other  bed.  "  God,  God,"  she 
yelled,  in  a  sort  of  groaning  whisper,  "  help 
me.  Do  something,  oh,  the  pain!  It's  cruel, 
it's  cruel,  God,  God.  Give  me  morphia.  I  can't 
bear  it.  Nurse,  why  don't  you  come  to  me  ?  Oh 
God,  you  are  cruel.  Help !  won't  somebody  help 
me?  Nurse  send  for  the  doctor " 

And  the  nurse  sent  for  him,  and  when  he  came 
he  did  nothing  but  tell  her  to  be  quiet.  He 
couldn't  and  wouldn't  give  her  morphia.  She 
must  go  to  sleep,  and  she  must  be  quiet,  she  was 
disturbing  me.  She  was  going  on  beautifully. 
She  was  bound  to  have  some  pain  the  first  few 
hours,  and  she  must  bear  it  bravely  .  .  . 

Then  he  came  across  to  me  and  asked  me  if 
I  were  comfortable.  I  begged  in  a  whisper  for 
some  water,  but  he  shook  his  head.  It  might 
cause  me  to  be  sick,  and  I  was  too  weak  to  do 
anything  but  acquiesce  dumbly. 

The  hours  passed  slowly.  My  thirst  became 
intolerable,  and  my  body  burnt  with  heat.  A 

312 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

blanket  was  next  to  me,  no  cool  sheet,  and  the 
feel  of  the  hot  irritating  wool  nearly  sent  me 
frantic. 

At  eleven  o'clock  or  thereabouts,  the  young 
house  surgeon  came  on  his  last  round.  He  felt 
my  pulse,  enquired  about  my  temperature,  and 
again  I  pleaded  for  a  little  water.  But  he  was 
inexorable.  When  he  had  gone  the  slow  tears 
trickled  down  my  cheeks.  I  was  in  grinding 
pain,  I  longed  unspeakably  to  turn  on  my  side, 
if  only  for  a  second,  and  I  would  have  bartered 
my  soul  for  a  pillow. 

I  never  slept  through  that  long,  long  night. 
Mrs.  Philpots  had  ceased  her  cries,  and  from 
her  laboured  breathing  I  knew  that  her  pain 
was  lost  in  slumber.  Sometimes  she  moaned  a 
little,  but  she  was  unconscious,  and  that  was 
bliss.  Occasionally  a  night  nurse  looked  in  to 
see  that  all  was  right  with  us.  There  was  little 
she  could  do,  we  were  neither  allowed  food — 
which  we  certainly  didn't  want,  nor  drink,  nor 
morphia,  nor  anything.  We  just  had  to  lie  still 
and  allow  nature  to  heal  us  in  her  own  way. 

As  the  hours  passed  my  mouth  became  so 
parched  that  I  found  I  was  unable  to  articulate. 
When  the  nurse  bent  over  me  I  tried  to  frame 
the  word  "  water,"  but  my  dry  swollen  lips  re- 

313 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

fused  to  move.  I  pointed  to  a  jug  on  the  wash- 
stand,  but  again  she  shook  her  head.  "  It  is 
against  the  rules,"  she  whispered.  "  You  can 
not  have  anything  till  6  o'clock."  She  saw  by 
my  face  I  wanted  to  know  the  time.  "  It  is 
3  o'clock  now."  And  she  left  me. 

And  in  those  three  hours  I  tasted  purgatory. 
My  head  lolled  from  side  to  side,  my  body  felt 
like  a  burning  coal,  my  wound  seemed  to  be  on 
fire.  And  all  the  time  before  my  fevered  vision 
I  saw  a  little  stream  of  water  gushing  from  the 
rocks,  a  little  stream  of  water  I  saw  when  walk 
ing  with  Uncle  Sandy  to  Loch  Katrine,  spring 
ing  from  moss-covered  rocks.  Splashing  the 
ferns  in  its  fall,  covering  them  with  diamond 
drops,  making  a  sound  most  delicious  and 
musical. 

I  pictured  myself  lying  amongst  the  wet  ferns 
with  the  water  falling  on  to  me,  trickling  down 
my  burning  cheeks  and  into  my  parched  mouth. 
Splashing  over  my  neck  and  hair,  and  hands. 
And  again  blinding  tears  dropped  on  to  the  hot 
woolly  blanket.  I  could  not  sob,  it  hurt  too 
much.  Then  I  thought  of  Water  Marsh  at 
home,  fed  by  the  brook,  with  cress  and  waving 
weeds  and  kingcups ;  and  I  with  bare  feet  pad 
dling  about  as  I  did  as  a  child  frock  pinned  up, 

314 


GWENDA 

sleeves  rolled  back,  and  hair  flying  in  the  wind. 
From  that  I  passed  to  the  garden  at  Sunset 
after  a  shower  of  rain.  I  recalled  the  scent  of 
the  wet  box  bordering  the  paths,  and  of  the 
roses  when  I  pressed  my  face  into  their  moist 
petalled  hearts  and  snuffed  up  the  sweet  drops ; 
and  of  the  privet  in  flower  already  inviting  the 
bees  to  venture  forth  as  the  rain  had  passed 
and  it  contained  much  honeyed  sweetness  for 
those  who  cared  to  cull. 

You  will  say  it  was  foolish  of  me  to  torture 
myself  thus,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  Our 
thoughts  are  not  under  our  control  when  we 
are  feverish. 

And  so  that  night  of  horror  passed  and  the 
dawn  crept  into  the  room  revealing  the  colour 
washed  walls  and  the  lockers  by  our  beds  (in 
which  were  stored  bandages  and  antiseptic  wool 
and  various  appliances)  and  the  cheap  prints 
and  brightly  coloured  texts  which  assured  us 
that  "  God  is  Love,"  and  "  The  Lord  is  my  Shep 
herd,  I  shall  not  Want,"  and  "  Joy  cometh  in 
the  Morning,"  which  last  I  thought  was  an 
irony,  nothing  short  of  cruel,  for  if  there  is  any 
time  when  an  invalid  is  feeling  worse  than  an 
other  it  is  in  the  early  morning. 

The  roar  of  London  had  begun,  milk  carts 
315 


GWENDA 

with  their  rattling  cans,  and  heavy  drays  rum 
bled  along  the  streets.  A  fire  station  butts  on 
to  the  side  of  the  hospital,  and  at  about  five 
o'clock  the  engines  were  called  out,  and  the 
noise  as  they  tore  over  the  cobbled  stones, 
snorting  and  shrieking,  would  have  made  me 
leap  if  I  could  have  leapt. 

And  at  last  six  o'clock  arrived  and  my  water, 
and  as  the  nurse  entered  the  room  it  seemed 
to  me  she  was  a  shining  angel  of  mercy  and 
eagerly  I  stretched  out  my  hands.  And — she 
held  to  my  lips  one  spoonful  of  warm  water 
with  which  she  said  I  could  rinse  out  my  mouth, 
but  must  not  swallow. 

Oh,  the  cruelty  and  bitterness  of  my  disap 
pointment:  Bound  and  round  in  my  mouth  I 
rolled  that  insipid  warm  water,  and  dared  I 
swallow  it?  But  no,  she  was  a  large  firm  nurse 
with  a  moustache. 

When  she  had  gone  I  did  a  very  wicked  thing, 
so  rash,  so  foolish  that  I  hold  my  breath  when 
I  think  of  it  now.  On  the  shelf  of  my  locker 
was  a  bowl  of  roses  which  Fanchette  had  left 
me.  By  stretching  out  an  arm  I  could  reach  it. 
I  could  not  raise  my  head  more  than  a  couple 
of  inches,  but  I  managed  to  get  that  bowl  to  my 
lips  and  I  drank.  And  as  I  drank  I  knew  that 

316 


GWENDA 

I  was  swallowing  germs  and  all  sorts  of  terrible 
things  that  would  set  up  septic  poisoning  and 
kill  me  at  once;  but  better  die  that  way  than 
from  thirst. 

Providence  had  helped  me.  All  flowers  are 
removed  from  the  wards  at  night,  but  this  bowl 
of  roses  had  been  overlooked.  It  had  appar 
ently  been  left  for  me.  And  then  I  slept. 
Through  the  day  little  sips  of  warm  milk  and 
water  were  administered  to  us  and  we  slept  at 
intervals. 

And  then  another  long  night  was  to  be  faced, 
and  again  Mrs.  Philpots  whimpered  and  cried 
out  and  called  upon  God  to  help  her ;  and  once 
she  became  so  noisy  that  I  turned  my  head  to 
ward  her  and  said  "  S-sh."  And  she  was  so 
astonished  that  she  did  hush.  It  was  a  queer 
noise  I  made,  something  like  the  hiss  of  a 
gander,  and  whenever  she  began  to  groan  I 
shoo'd  at  her  till  she  stopped,  and  gradually  I 
shoo'd  her  to  sleep.  And  when  the  nurse  came 
to  give  us  our  medicine,  or  milk,  I  have  for 
gotten  which,  I  implored  her  not  to  wake  Mrs. 
Philpots  and  I  would  take  her  dose  as  well  as 
my  own. 

And  so  the  days  and  nights  passed,  always  in 
pain,  sometimes  sick,  and  often  asleep.  Till  at 

317 


the  end  of  a  week  my  suffering  began  to  lessen 
and  lessen  till  it  went. 

I  have  various  dates  stowed  away  in  my  mind 
by  which  I  remember  the  stages  of  my  progress : 
At  the  end  of  twenty-four  hours  I  was  allowed 
to  have  a  pillow,  my  gratitude  was  enormous. 
On  the  fifth  day  I  had  a  little  fish  and  thin 
bread  and  butter.  On  the  sixth  I  received  Mrs. 
Prendergast,  my  first  visitor.  Mrs.  Philpots 
saw  Mr.  Philpots  for  ten  minutes  on  the  third 
day,  and  I  was  very  jealous — not  of  Mr.  Phil- 
pots  who  resembles  a  mournful  music  master 
without  pupils,  but  because  7  was  not  permitted 
to  have  a  visitor.  I  spoke  of  my  grievance  to  a 
nurse,  and  she  replied  I  was  not  as  well  as  the 
occupant  of  the  other  bed. 

"  In  what  respect  ?  "  I  whispered  with  some 
asperity,  and  she  replied  she  wasn't  there  to 
explain  the  medical  aspects  of  our  individual 
cases,  but  to  nurse  us,  wash  us,  feed  us  and 
enforce  obedience,  and  would  I  open  my  mouth 
at  once  as  she  wished  to  take  my  tempera 
ture. 

On  the  eighth  day  the  cage  which  supported 
the  bedclothes  was  removed  and  I  ceased  to  feel 
like  a  hen  in  a  coop. 

But  I  will  not  worry  you  with  any  further 
318 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

details  of  my  illness.  They  are  not  particularly 
interesting  I  know,  but  this  writing  helps  to 
pass  the  time,  and  there  is  so  little  to  write 
about. 

In  five  days  I  shall  be  out  of  here.  Just 
think  of  it!  Mrs.  Philpots  wants  to  tell  me 
more  about  her  Cousin  Bob  Williamson.  He  is 
a  soda  water  manufacturer,  and  I  am  getting 
quite  a  good  bit  interested  in  him.  He  is  enor 
mously  stout  and  his  wife  is  under  five  feet  in 
height  and  weighs  just  over  seven  stone;  and 
it  appears  when  they  are  in  bed  she  has  a 
desperate  time  trying  to  get  comfortable.  I 
couldn't  see  why  at  first,  and  Mrs.  Philpots 
hinted  that  I  was  very  dull.  He  is  so  fright 
fully  heavy  that  he  weighs  the  mattress  down 
his  side  to  such  an  extent  that  a  slope  is  formed 
and  she  comes  sliding  down  on  to  him  at  all 
hours  of  the  night  which  annoys  him  very  con 
siderably. 

I  laughed  so  much  over  this  story  that  I 
really  hurt  myself;  and  then  Mrs.  Philpots 
searched  about  in  her  mind  for  more,  but  none 
was  so  funny  as  that. 

October  14th. — Sometimes  the  days  seem  very 
long.  The  convalescent  stage  of  an  illness  is 

319 


GWENDA 

more  trying  than  any  other.  Don't  you  find 
it  so? 

So  you  have  been  up  in  your  room.  You  have 
beaten  me.  But  had  you  also  had  an  operation 
you  would  still  have  beaten  me.  Yours  is  a 
more  indomitable  will  than  mine. 

To-day  I  am  fractious  and  depressed.  The 
Sister  tells  me  she  fears  I  shall  not  be  allowed 
to  leave  here  on  the  18th.  She  doesn't  give  any 
reason  why.  The  prospect  of  being  in  this  place 
an  hour  longer  than  I  anticipated  fills  me  with 
dismay. 

Of  course,  I  fainted  when  the  stitches  were 
removed,  most  women,  with  the  exception  of 
Goliath-like  creatures  without  a  nerve  in  their 
bodies,  would  faint;  it  is  such  a  horrid  sick 
ening  sort  of  sensation.  And  what  do  you  think 
they  gave  me  when  I  came  round — soda  water. 
Can  you  imagine  colder  comfort?  It  so  tickled 
me  that  it  made  me  laugh,  and  the  Sister  says 
I  am  one  of  the  queerest  patients  she  has  had 
in  her  ward.  When  she  expects  me  to  cry  I 
laugh,  and  vice  versa. 

I  am  picturing  the  woods  to-day  at  home,  and 
I  imagine  I  hear  the  thud  of  a  chestnut  as  it 
falls  to  earth  with  its  soft  fragrant  carpet  of 
leaves,  and  I  can  see  the  flutter  of  yellow  birch 

320 


GWENDA 

leaves  as  they  too  return  to  dear  Mother  earth, 
and  Mrs.  Philpots  will  keep  interrupting  my 
pretty  fancies  with  her  woes. 

She  has  what  is  known  as  a  surface  stitch 
abscess,  nothing  in  the  least  serious,  and  she 
has  made  as  much  fuss  over  it  as  if  she  had 
had  her  operation  all  over  again.  She  says  it 
is  the  fault  of  the  nurses,  that  they  have  been 
careless  with  her,  not  attended  to  her  properly, 
and  that  a  stitch  abscess  only  arises  from  bad 
nursing.  She  has  talked  of  it  morning,  noon 
and  night,  and  has  just  announced  that  she  shall 
ask  her  husband  to  remove  her  in  an  ambulance 
before  anything  else  goes  wrong.  I  have  had 
difficulty  to  prevent  myself  from  skipping  (fig 
uratively  speaking)  at  this  good  news,  but  tried 
out  of  politeness  to  look  as  if  I  should  miss 
her. 

"  The  nurses  and  doctors  will  be  vexed  of 
course,  they  will  know  that  my  faith  in  them 
has  gone,"  she  said,  her  mountainous  body 
heaving  the  bedclothes  up  and  down  as  she  let 
forth  a  big  sigh  of  satisfaction  at  the  prospect 
of  the  discomf  orture.  "  Mr.  Wynn-Shuttle- 
worth  will  give  it  the  nurses,  and  I  shall  make  a 
point  of  telling  him  what  I  think  of  them." 

"  I  shouldn't,"  I  said,  with  some  heat.  "  Just 
321 


GWENDA 

think  of  what  they  do  for  us."    Peter  Drexel's 
rebuke  had  done  me  some  good. 

"  They  get  paid  for  it." 

"  But  they  don't,  very  few  of  them  receive 
anything  but  their  board  and  lodging,"  I  re 
turned. 

"  Well,  they  like  their  work,"  she  persisted. 

"  Like  nursing  patients  such  as  you  and  I?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  been  a  good  patient.  I 
have  given  as  little  trouble  as  I  possibly  could. 
I  am  used  to  operations,  and  know  the  ropes 
of  the  place.  It  is  different  for  you,  of  course." 

I  checked  a  smile  at  her  gentle  patronage. 
"  Yet  you  persist  in  leaving  before  the  time 
is  up." 

"  Because  I  am  not  satisfied  with  the  treat 
ment.  I  have  no  right  to  have  a  stitch  abscess." 

"  Well  I  am  sure  they  don't  want  you  to  have 
one.  It  can  be  no  pleasure  to  them,"  I  retorted. 

She  ignored  my  sarcasm  and  announced  that 
she  should  give  a  handsome  donation  when  she 
left,  and  that  I  mustn't  imagine  she  was  living 
on  charity. 

"  My  husband  is  a  most  liberal  man,"  she 
said.  "  Probably  he  will  give  £10.  And  these 
hospitals  must  be  jolly  glad  to  get  patients  in 
our  position." 

322 


GWENDA 

"  Do  you  think  so?"  I  replied  slowly,  "I 
fancy  I  should  much  prefer  the  poor  were  I  in 
the  committee's  position.  We,  who  have  had 
comfortable  homes,  naturally  expect  more  when 
we  come  to  such  institutions  than  those  who 
have  come  from  wretched  surroundings.  I  am 
angry  because  I  am  roused  at  6  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  I  jeer  at  the  fuss  made  over  the  sur 
geon,  (and  I  still  jeer  a  bit  to  myself)  and  you 
resent  having  a  stitch  abscess.  There  is  a  dumb 
resignation  in  the  poor  when  they  suffer — I 
have  seen  it  at  home.  They  may  not  be  grateful 
for  what  they  receive,  but  they  at  least  don't 
grumble  at  it.  If  you  and  I  had  undergone 
operations  in  our  homes,  at  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Wynn-Shuttleworth,  they  would  cost  us,  with 
nursing,  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  at  the  very 
least.  I  try  to  remember  this  now  when  I  am 
inclined  to  grumble." 

"  Dear  me,"  she  said,  "  I  wonder  you  came 
here." 

"  I  came  because  I  couldn't  afford  to  go  any 
where  else,  and  I  expect  your  reason  was  the 
same,"  I  said  more  gently,  as  her  cheeks  had 
flushed.  "  I  don't  suppose  either  of  us  wanted 
to  come,  but  as  we  are  here,  don't  you  think  we 
ought  to  make  the  best  of  things  T  " 

323 


GWENDA 

"  Perhaps,"  she  returned  grudgingly,  "  but 
all  the  same  I  shall  leave  to-morrow."  And  I 
said  I  certainly  should. 

A  nurse  has  just  been  in  with  lovely  flowers 
from  Mrs.  Prendergast  and  Peter.  They  send 
some  each  day  and  lovely  fruit,  most  of  which 
I  am  not  allowed  to  touch,  and  they  know  it, 
but  still  send.  To-morrow  is  visiting  day,  and 
they  will  come  to  see  me  as  usual  and  I  am 
rather  dreading  seeing  Peter.  At  first  I  felt 
glad  and  proud  when  I  heard  that  he  cared  for 
me,  but  now  I  am  sorry — if  it  be  true,  for  of 
course  his  sister  as  likely  as  not  has  made  a 
mistake  in  her  supposition,  and  his  feelings  to 
ward  me  may  be  those  of  mere  friendship.  I 
shall  feel  awkward  and  self-conscious  when  I 
meet  him,  nervous  and  stupid,  and  it  is  a  pity. 
I  so  much  enjoyed  having  him  as  a  friend,  and 
don't  want  him  as  a  lover. 

It  is  tiresome  that  a  woman  can  never  have 
a  man  friend  throughout  her  life.  Some  women 
pretend  they  can,  but  they  only  get  talked  about 
if  they  do.  If  a  man  is  thirty  years  older  or 
twenty  years  younger  than  a  woman  and  she  is 
seen  about  with  him  much,  all  her  friends  and 
acquaintances  nod  their  heads  and  incline  them 
toward  each  other  and  whisper  "  there  is  more 

324 


GWENDA 

in  this  than  they  would  have  us  believe."  Of 
course  there  are  a  few  women  who  can  embark 
upon  a  friendship  with  a  man,  I  am  sure  Mrs. 
Philpots  could  with  absolute  safety,  but  then 
would  any  man  want  to  be  her  friend?  I  can't 
conceive  it. 

Granty,  I  am  growing  nasty  and  sour,  but 
keep  your  love  for  me,  won't  you?  I  have  been 
a  failure,  a  few  can  support  success  with  dig 
nity — but  not  many.  It  wants  a  fineness  and 
simplicity  of  character  which  few  possess,  but 
how  many  come  through  the  muddy  waters  of 
failure  with  any  gain  to  their  characters? 
Either  they  go  under  altogether,  or  they  whine 
and  become  cynical  and  soured.  You  must  help 
me  to  win  through,  dear. 

GWENDA. 


325 


LETTER   XXI 

ST.  MARGARET'S  HOSPITAL  FOR  WOMEN, 
BLOOMSBURY,  W.  C.,  Oct.  16th. 

MY  DEAR  GEANTY  : 

Quite  a  number  of  important  events  have 
taken  place  since  I  last  wrote  to  you,  which  was 
only  the  day  before  yesterday.  I  have  sat  up 
for  half  an  hour  in  a  chair ;  Mrs.  Philpots  has 
departed ;  a  night-nurse  has  been  taken  off  duty 
because  of  her  unkindness  to  the  patients ;  and 
Mr.  Peter  Drexel  has  written  me  a  letter  say 
ing  that  he  has  been  obliged  to  leave  Town  on 
business  but  will  be  back  by  the  time  I  am  dis 
charged  from  the  hospital,  as  he  intends,  with 
my  permission,  to  take  me  down  to  Silvercombe 
himself. 

"  It  is  ridiculous,"  he  writes,  "  to  undertake 
such  a  journey  in  the  weak  condition  you  will 
be  in,  accompanied  only  by  a  maid.  Only  a  rash 
and  very  foolish  girl  would  contemplate  taking 
such  a  step.  I  have  been  your  medical  adviser 
once,  therefore  I  feel  in  a  position  to  scold  you 
and  give  you  some  advice — which  is:  Come  to 

326 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

my  sister  for  a  few  days  while  you  feel  your 
feet  and  gain  a  little  strength  and  then  go  to 
Silvercombe.  And  may  I  venture  to  put  a  ques 
tion  to  you:  why  this  awful  hurry  to  tear  off 
to  Devonshire?  We  much  fear,  Jane  and  I, 
that  you  intend  taking  root  there,  and  once  this 
is  achieved  will  there  be  any  chance  of  your 
ever  consenting  to  be  transplanted  to  another 
soil  even  for  a  day  or  two?  You  have,  as  you 
well  know,  two  warm  friends  in  this  grimy  old 
city.  Won't  you  give  them  an  opportunity  of 
proving  their  affection  for  you  by  being  per 
mitted  to  nurse  and  tend  you  for  a  little  while  ? 
It  will  be  selfish  of  you  to  refuse." 

Isn't  it  a  nice  kind  practical  letter?  So  ex 
actly  like  him;  and  I  can  see  the  set  of  his 
mouth  as  he  penned  those  lines. 

I  don't  believe  he  is  a  scrap  in  love  with  me. 
It  is  a  figment  of  Jane  Prendergast's  brain.  A 
man  in  love  couldn't  possibly  have  written  any 
thing  so  friendly  and  sensible.  He  would  have 
written  either  very  guardedly  and  primly,  or  let 
himself  go  altogether. 

So  that  little  romance  cleared  away,  what 
shall  I  do?  I  am  horribly  weak,  there  is  not 
a  doubt  about  it,  and  it  is  a  great  disappoint 
ment  to  me.  When  I  am  lying  here,  propped  up 

327 


with  pillows  and  wearing  my  sky-blue  dressing 
jacket — blue  always  gives  me  an  elated  sensa 
tion — I  feel  as  well  and  as  strong  as  a  horse; 
but,  oh,  when  they  got  me  up  just  now  how  did 
I  feel!  It  is  not  easy  to  describe.  Suddenly 
when  I  put  my  feet  to  the  ground,  my  legs  ap 
peared  to  be  made  of  tissue  paper  and  they 
crumpled  up  beneath  me.  And,  of  course,  being 
impossible  to  stand  upon  tissue  paper  legs  all 
crumpling  up,  I  should  have  fallen  had  not  a 
nurse  seized  me  and  half  carried  me  to  a  chair. 
And  what  do  you  think  she  said,  quite  in  a  voice 
of  triumph1?  "  There,  I  told  you  so."  Can  you 
imagine  anything  baser  or  more  exasperating? 
And  because  I  was  trying  to  focus  things  cor 
rectly,  for  all  the  furniture  appeared  to  be 
jumping  about  the  room  and  I  saw  it  through 
a  swimming  black  darkness,  I  was  unable  to 
reply  for  a  moment,  but  when  clearness  of 
vision  returned  and  the  washstand  went  back  to 
its  proper  place,  I  said :  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean.  I  feel  perfectly  well,  and  if  I  didn't, 
it's  unkind  to  say  '  I  told  you  so.' " 

And  she  laughed  and  wondered  how  I  looked 
when  I  wasn't  well  and  felt  faint. 

"  Probably  very  interesting,"  I  replied.  "  I 
have  never  seen  myself  when  I  have  felt  faint. 

328 


GWENDA 

You  can't  be  looking  into  a  mirror  when  you 
are  endeavouring  to  prevent  the  floor  from  hit 
ting  you  in  the  face."  And  while  I  was  speak 
ing  she  suddenly  and  most  unexpectedly  seized 
my  feet  and  placed  them  upon  another  chair, 
nearly  upsetting  my  balance  altogether. 

"  Don't  do  that  again,"  I  said  severely,  "  or 
else  give  me  warning." 

Again  she  laughed.  "  You'll  never  be  allowed 
to  leave  here  in  a  couple  of  days,  you're  no 
stronger  than  a  baby.  You  should  just  see  the 
way  your  colour  comes  and  goes." 

"  Need  you  keep  referring  to  my  strength," 
I  said,  struggling  after  composure,  for  her 
words  seemed  as  a  death  knell  to  my  hopes.  "  I 
have  wonderful  recuperative  powers  once  I  am 
up  and  about." 

"  You  won't  leave  this  place  inside  a  week," 
she  repeated. 

I  did  not  tell  her  that  I  had  never  met  a 
person's  conversation  so  singularly  devoid  of 
interest  as  hers,  as  I  thought  she  might  be 
offended,  but  I  closed  my  eyes  as  a  hint  that 
she  might  go. 

"  You  don't  look  so  bad  when  it's  getting  dark, 
but  this  illness  has  aged  you,"  was  her  next 
comforting  observation.  There  did  not  seem  to 

329 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

be  anything  to  say  to  this;  my  glass  told  me 
that  she  was  speaking  the  truth,  and  I  lay  and 
wondered  weakly  why  it  was  that  truthful  peo 
ple  were  usually  so  unlovable. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  married?"  was  her 
next  startling  question.  "  There's  a  gentleman 
who  comes  to  ask  for  you  every  day." 

"A  gentleman?"  I  opened  my  eyes  and 
my  heart  suddenly  began  to  beat  violently. 
"  What's  he  like?  Tall,  dark,  handsome?  " 

"  No,  not  tall,  and  rather  plain.  I  think  he 
came  to  see  you  one  afternoon.  I  wasn't  on 
duty,  but  I  caught  sight  of  him  as  I  was  going 
down  the  passage.  And  I  must  be  going  now. 
Eh,  you  have  flushed.  And  you  can't  have  been 
a  widow  very  long.  You  don't  look  old." 

"  A  widow !  "  I  stared  at  her.  "  Who  said 
I  was  a  widow !  " 

"  Well  nobody,"  she  admitted.  "  But  as  you 
are  called  Mrs.  Conyngham  and  your  husband 
has  never  been  to  see  you,  I  concluded  you  were 
a  widow." 

"  Dear  me,"  I  said,  "  how  extraordinary." 

"  And  aren't  you  one  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  and — and  I  don't  want  to 
talk  any  more.  I  am  tired." 

Rather  reluctantly,  she  went,  saying  she 
330 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

would  return  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  put 
me  back  to  bed. 

Granty,  the  disappointment  that  her  words 
brought  to  me  was  cruel.  And  oh,  what  a  fool 
I  am,  and  where  is  my  pride?  It  can't  be  that 
I  still  care  for  Lionel?  It  is  impossible.  My 
love  is  dead  absolutely.  It  died  the  night  of 
our  final  interview.  I  hate  him  now.  I  have 
kept  telling  you  so  in  my  letters,  haven't  I? 
There  can't  be  a  mistake.  He  has  never  been 
to  see  me,  or  sent  me  one  little  message  of  sym 
pathy.  He  is  always  with  Lady  Rivers.  He 
loves  her  not  me.  I  can't  love  a  person  who 
doesn't  love  me.  I  hate  him.  I  keep  repeating 
the  words  I  hate  him.  But  why  did  my  heart 
beat  in  that  strange  fashion,  why  did  the  blood 
flame  to  my  cheeks?  It  must  be  because  I  am 
so  weak. 

I  am  too  tired  to  write  any  more,  but  will 
finish  this  letter  to-morrow.  And  to-morrow 
surely  I  shall  know  whether  I  am  to  remain  a 
prisoner  here  any  longer  or  be  with  you  at 
Silvercombe  in  a  fortnight's  time. 

October  17th. — The  decree  has  gone  forth.  I 
am  not  to  leave  here  just  yet.  It  would  not  be 
wise. 

331 


GWENDA 

Mr.  Wynn-Shuttleworth  was  kind  when  he 
saw  my  tears  which  I  could  not  keep  back.  "  It 
is  disappointing  I  know,"  he  said  gently,  "  but 
another  week  will  make  all  the  difference  in  the 
world.  "We  want  our  patients  not  to  disgrace 
us,  but  to  do  us  credit.  You  must  be  brave." 

Always  I  am  told  that  "  I  must  be  brave." 
And  I  am  so  tired  of  trying  to  be  brave,  and  I 
fail  so  dismally.  My  pillow  is  wet  in  the  night 
with  my  tears,  and  there  is  nobody  now  to  hear 
my  sobs  Mrs.  Philpots  has  gone,  her  bed  is  not 
yet  occupied,  the  night  nurse  visits  me  rarely, 
for  there  is  little  to  do  now,  and  so  I  lie  and 
weep. 

How  long  is  it  since  I  was  happy?  Was  it 
in  another  life,  Granty?  I  feel  I  should  find 
strength  if  I  were  with  you.  I  am  so  weary — 

"  Shoulders  and  loins  ache  .  .  .  ! 
Ache,  and  the  mattress 
Runs  into  bowlders  and  hummocks, 
Glows  like  a  kiln,  while  the  bedclothes — 
Tumbling,  importunate,  daft, — 
Ramble  and  roll." 

But  one  little  bit  of  happiness  I  possess,  and 
that  is  to  know  you  are  gaining  strength,  and 
have  been  out  in  the  garden.  So  the  ivy  against 
the  barn  is  flowering  once  more,  giving  to  the 

332 


GWENDA 

bees  a  last  bit  of  honeyed  sweetness  before  they 
shut  up  house  for  the  winter,  and  the  laures- 
tinus  too.  And  I  have  them  to  look  forward 
to  when  I  go  home — ivy  flowers  and  laurestinus 
and  the  sun  shining  upon  them.  So,  after  all, 
there  is  something  left  for  me. 

GWENDA. 


333 


LETTER   XXII 

ST.  MARGARET'S  HOSPITAL  FOR  WOMEN, 
BLOOMSBURY,  Oct.  19th. 

MY  DEAR  GBANTY  : 

I  fear  that  my  last  letter  to  you  was  a  little 
depressed. 

How  true  was  your  remark  that  my  pen  would 
probably  run  away  with  me  in  a  breakneck  fash 
ion;  and  you  have  been  the  victim.  But  I  am 
not  going  to  say  I  am  sorry  because  I  believe 
you  have  been  a  willing  victim;  that  is  your 
way. 

Some  people  are  born  unselfish  and  some 
honest  and  some  charitable  and  some  sympa 
thetic,  and  the  greatest  of  these  is  the  last. 
Unselfishness  and  charity  are  very  pleasant  at 
tributes  ;  honesty  in  others  is  very  stimulating ; 
but  what  we  need  most  of  all  in  our  earthly 
pilgrimage  is  sympathy. 

A  person  may  insist  upon  giving  you  the 
most  comfortable  chair,  the  tit-bit  of  the 
joint,  the  warmest  place  on  the  hearth,  may 

33-i 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

be  willing  to  fetch  and  carry  for  you,  save 
you  all  the  disagreeable  things  of  life,  be 
absolutely  unselfish  toward  the  body  part 
of  you,  and  never  notice  that  your  soul  is 
starving. 

Most  of  us  suffer  from  the  frailty  of  being 
more  interested  in  ourselves  than  in  anything 
or  in  anybody  else  in  the  world.  Some  of  us 
more  than  others.  And  when  a  person  is  sym 
pathetic  enough  to  discuss  with  us  ourself— 
myself,  that  person  is  very  popular  and  much 
beloved.  All  popular  people  are  sympathetic. 
They  are  interested  in  our  work,  our  play,  our 
sorrows,  our  ambitions,  our  hopes.  They  have 
good  memories.  A  month  has  elapsed  since  you 
met  them,  yet  they  enquire  how  the  new  cook  is 
going  on  and  whether  your  evening  frock  turned 
out  a  success,  and  the  picture  you  are  painting 
finished.  You  are  gratified  and  touched  at  their 
interest  in  you.  When  they  have  gone  you  re 
mark  how  nice  they  are.  You  don't  realise  that 
you  haven't  enquired  about  their  cooks  and 
frocks  and  paintings,  or  whatever  lies  near  to 
their  hearts. 

You  are  one  of  the  former,  and  I  am  wonder 
ing  sadly  if  I  am  one  of  the  latter. 

For  five  months  I  have  poured  out  my  woes 
335 


and  thoughts  and  doings  to  you,  and  have  al 
ways  found  the  sympathy  I  have  sought  and 
needed.  It  has  never  failed  me.  And  during 
these  five  months  what  notice  have  I  taken 
of  your  woes  and  doings  and  pleasures  and 
occupations?  Not  much,  dear  heart.  And  yet 
I  have  been  interested.  But  sympathy  un 
expressed,  mute,  is  not  much  use  to  anybody, 
is  it? 

But  I  have  thought  of  you  more  often  than 
I  can  tell  you.  I  have  pictured  you  in  the  up 
right,  extremely  uncomfortable  drawing-room 
chair,  to  which  you  are  so  unaccountably 
attached,  reading  The  Nineteenth  Century. 
There  is  a  paper  on  Free  Trade  with 
which  you  disagree.  Your  brow  is  knit, 
with  an  irritable  movement  you  rearrange 
your  shawl,  the  man  is  a  fool.  I  have  seen  you 
on  summer  days  seated  on  the  milking  stool, 
close  to  a  currant  bush,  engaged  in  picking  fruit 
for  jam,  you  are  wearing  the  battered  hat,  the 
little  feather  of  which,  so  rusty  and  thin,  droops 
sadly.  I  have  been  with  you  when  you  have 
been  patiently  using  up  things  for  supper,  while 
in  your  secret  heart  wishing  that  old  Hannah 
would  be  a  little  more  wasteful.  And  I  have 
always  been  with  you  in  spirit  when  at  night 

336 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

you  have  gone  to  my  old  room  and  standing 
by  the  bed  whispered 

"One  to  watch 
Two  to  pray 
Three  to  keep 
All  harm  away." 

Whatever  I  have  been  doing,  dancing,  playing 
bridge,  at  a  theatre,  or  in  the  quiet  of  my  own 
room,  I  have  never  failed  to  send  my  thoughts 
through  the  night  to  a  cottage  at  Silvercombe. 

As  I  write,  a  pair  of  bright  brown  eyes  watch 
me  from  the  other  bed,  if  I  smile  or  wipe  away 
a  tear  their  gaze  becomes  uncomfortably  intent. 
They  belong  to  a  new  patient  who  has  taken 
the  place  of  Mrs.  Philpots,  and  she  is  as  small 
as  the  other  was  large. 

Her  hands  are  tiny  and  her  body  so  slight 
that  as  she  lies  there  she  reminds  me  of  a  small 
brown  bird.  She  is  to  be  operated  on  this  after 
noon,  for  what  I  don't  know.  She  is  unlike  Mrs. 
Philpots,  and  is  not  communicative.  Poor,  wee, 
thing,  I  hope  she  won't  suffer  much.  And  if  she 
does,  I  know  she  will  be  silent  about  it. 

I  had  been  up  again  yesterday  for  half  an 
hour,  and  had  just  got  back  to  bed  when  Mrs. 
Prendergast, — I  can't  get  into  the  way  of  calling 
her  Jane, — flew  in  for  a  few  minutes  on  her  way 


GWENDA 

to  a  bridge  party.  She  took  my  breath  away 
by  saying :  "  Do  you  know  why  Peter  hasn't 
been  to  see  you?  " 

"  He  is  away,"  I  replied. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  He  wrote  and  told  me." 

She  moved  restlessly  about  the  room.  "  That 
is  not  the  real  reason." 

I  looked  at  her  interrogatively. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  how  very  difficult 
it  must  be  for  a  man  of  Peter's  temperament  to 
prevent  himself  from  putting  his  arms  around 
the  woman  he  loves  when  he  sees  her  as  frail 
and  lonesome  and  unprotected  as  you?  " 

I  put  up  my  hand  for  her  to  hush. 

"  I  won't,"  she  said  obstinately,  "  'he  wants  to 
strain  you  to  his  heart,  to  smother  your  face 
with  kisses,  to  pour  out  his  words  of  love. 
There ! " 

"  How  imaginative  you  are,"  I  said  quietly, 
"  it  is  wonderful." 

"  It  is  not  imagination.  Peter  is  my  only 
brother.  I  am  devoted  to  him.  You  are  ruining 
his  life." 

"  And  is  that  my  fault?  "  I  asked.  "  Were  I 
free  I  might  love  to  hear  your  words,  but  as  it 
is,  don't  you  think  it  is  a  little  cruel  ?  " 

338 


GWENDA 

In  an  instant  she  was  by  my  bed.  "  My 
poor  darling,  forgive  me.  But  I  love  you 
both  so  much,  and  don't  you  think  you  could 
ever  care  for  Peter? "  She  looked  at  me 
eagerly. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  think  so ;  but  if  I 
could,  what's  the  use?  " 

"  You  could  divorce  your  husband." 

"  Divorce  Lionel !  "  I  sat  up  in  bed  catching 
my  breath. 

"  Have  you  never  thought  of  such  a  possi 
bility?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  But  it's  what  every  woman — what  every 
normal  woman  would  do.  He  has  treated  you 
abominably,  cruelly,  heartlessly.  Ah,  I  must 
speak — let  me,  dear.  What's  the  use  of  pre 
tending  any  more.  Down  at  Glenfinlas  Peter 
could  have  horsewhipped  him,  whipped  the  life 
out  of  him.  You  were  away  in  your  room  ill, 
suffering,  and  Lionel  openly,  deliberately  and 
publicly  made  love  to  that  woman.  It  was  sick 
ening.  I  have  seen  Peter  with  clenched  hands 
and  eyes  suffused  with  passion  fighting  with 
himself  to  keep  his  hands  off  him.  He  has  gone 
to  your  sick  room  for  safety — till  he  had  con 
quered  himself,  got  his  passion  under  control. 

339 


GWENDA 

And  now —  She  broke  off,  and  seizing  a  poker 
smashed  a  piece  of  coal  in  the  fire  till  it  sent  up 
a  tongue  of  flame. 

"Yes?    Goon." 

"  And  now — while  you  are  ill,  while  you  are 
lying  in  a  ward  of  a  public  hospital,  while  your 
face  seems  to  grow  whiter  and  your  eyes  larger, 
the  man  you  call  husband  is  shocking  the  sen 
sibilities  of  even  the  most  hardened  of  sinners. 
"  He  might  have  waited,"  they  say,  "  waited 
till  that  poor  little  wife  of  his  is  over  her  ill 
ness  !  "  And  yet  it  is  more  that  woman's  fault 
than  his,  it  is  generally  more  the  woman's  fault ; 
and  while  he  is  hers — the  worst  and  the  best  of 
him — body  and  soul,  she  cares  no  more  about 
him  than  she  cares  for  the  man  who  blacks  her 
boots." 

"But  why — ?  Why  does  she  bother  with 
him?" 

"  He  is  of  use  to  her.  She  plays  with  him  as 
a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse.  He  is  her  tool.  It 
is  said  that  she  does  it  to  anger  her  own  hus 
band  who  in  a  fit  of  passion  divorced  her  and 
yet  still  loves  her.  That  is  where  her  danger 
lies.  By  her  beauty  she  exercises  a  sort  of  en 
chantment  over  men  of  a  certain  type.  She 
drives  them  nearly  frantic.  At  one  moment  she 

340 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

is  gentle,  sweetly  feminine,  demanding  their 
love  and  protection,  and  arousing  in  them  as 
much  of  chivalrous  self-sacrifice  as  they  are 
capable  of,  and  the  next,  if  she  has  other  fish 
to  fry,  she  casts  them  off  like  a  worn-out  glove. 
She  was  one  of  the  most  talked  of  women  in 
Town  before  she  married.  Her  husband  is  a 
bounder,  a  Jew,  and  rolling  in  money,  he  liked 
her  title,  but  he  has  one  decent  instinct — he 
loves  her,  and  still  loves  her.  I  am  sorry  for 
him,  and  in  a  curious  way  I  am  sorry  for  Lionel, 
for  he  is  weak  and — it  strikes  me  at  times  there 
is  something  abnormal  about  him,  something 
wanting,  his  head  is  a  curious  shape." 

"  Has  that  struck  you?  "  I  cried.  "  For  some 
time  I  have  noticed  it.  I — I  have  tried  to  make 
allowances." 

"  You  poor  little  thing."  She  knelt  and  took 
my  hand  in  hers.  "  You  have  made  too  many 
allowances.  I  do  not  mean  that  there  is  any 
thing  lacking  in  his  brain  development,  but  I 
do  mean — may  I  speak  plainly?  " 

I  nodded  assent. 

"  That  had  he  not  been  trained — my  husband 
says  Lionel's  mother  was  a  very  nice  and  charm 
ing  woman — that  had  he  not  been  educated, 
surrounded  by  the  refinements  and  luxuries  of 

341 


life,  lie  would  have  belonged  to  the  criminal 
class." 

I  started  violently. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  whispered.  "  What  a  fool 
I  am,  I  believe  your  temperature  is  up  again. 
Your  hand  is  burning.  What  would  Peter  say  ? 
Gwenda,  for  his  sake,  for  your  own  sake,  for 
everybody's  sake,  won't  you  let  Lionel  pass  out 
of  your  life !  It  will  be  for  the  best." 

"You  mean — "  somehow  I  couldn't  say  the 
words. 

"  I  mean,  divorce  him.    Put  him  from  you." 

I  shuddered  and  buried  my  face  in  my  hands. 
"  I  couldn't.  I  simply  couldn't.  I  don't  believe 
in  divorce.  I  shall  never  live  with  him  again. 
But  oh,  I  cannot  do  it.  I  cannot  wash  my  dirty 
linen  in  public.  Think  of  it,  going  through  the 
Courts,  and  the  wife  is  always  blamed.  They 
will  say  it  is  my  fault.  I  have  been  unable  to 
keep  his  affection.  I  have  failed  as  a  wife." 

"  Eot."  Her  voice  was  full  of  scorn.  "  And 
do  you  care  for  the  opinion  of  those  who  fre 
quent  the  divorce  courts  ?  And  as  for  washing 
your  dirty  linen  in  public,  it  is  washed  already, 
it  is  shouted  from  the  house  tops." 

I  shrank  at  her  words.  And  then  with  her 
arms  about  me  she  made  me  laugh  at  the  comi- 

342 


GWENDA 

cal  despair  of  her  voice :  "  I  am  the  biggest  ass 
that  ever  breathed,  I  am  no  more  fit  to  visit  a 
sick  person  than  a  lunatic  is.  I  am  going  be 
fore  I  can  do  any  more  mischief.  And  they  will 
be  wanting  to  make  up  the  number  for  bridge." 
She  drew  on  her  long  gloves.  "  Good-bye, 
dear." 

"  You  have  been  a  sight  for  sore  eyes,"  I 
sighed.  "  I  never  saw  anyone  with  a  lovelier 
figure.  And  you  have,  by  your  words,  given  me 
fresh  food  for  thought.  My  thoughts  get  very 
monotonous :  food,  bandages,  medicine,  Silver- 
combe,  Uncle  Sandy,  you,  Peter,  Granty.  I 
want  a  change." 

"  And  you  never  think  of  your  husband  f  "  she 
queried. 

"  I  try  not  to  more  than  I  can  help.  It  makes 
me  cry,  and  then  if  I  am  discovered  I  am 
scolded  by  an  extremely  stern  nurse." 

Suddenly  she  bent  over  me,  and  framing  my 
face  in  her  hands,  she  looked  at  me  searchingly. 
"  Gwenda,  you  don't  still  care  for  that  husband 
of  yours  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  I  stammered.  "  Certainly 
not,"  but  my  eyes  dropped  before  the  scrutiny 
in  hers. 

"  A  woman's  heart,"  she  observed  oracularly, 
343 


GWENDA 

"  is  the  strangest,  sometimes  the  most  beauti 
ful,  and  always  the  most  inexplicable  of  all 
God's  creations." 

And  then  she  left  me ;  and  I  weakly  laughed 
off  and  on  for  some  time,  till  the  little  lady  with 
the  bright  eyes  politely  hoped  I  wasn't  hysteri 
cal. 

October  20th. — Fanchette  has  just  left  me.  I 
am  allowed  to  see  visitors  most  days  now,  but 
there  are  not  many  to  come.  Peter  still  keeps 
away,  and  I  miss  him  more  than  I  thought  it 
would  be  possible.  His  kindness,  his  whimsical, 
unexpected  observations,  his  quiet  calm  pres 
ence  always  brought  me  strength  and  peace. 
One  touch  of  his  cool  strong  fingers  seemed  to 
quiet  my  pulse  as  by  magic.  He  sends  me  flow 
ers,  messages,  good  advice,  but  I  want  him. 
And  there  again,  the  mere  fact  of  his  staying 
away  proves  how  strong  he  is.  A  weak  man 
would  come,  and  I  only  want  him  as  a  friend. 

But  I  started  out  to  tell  you  about  Fanchette 
and  not  to  talk  of  Peter  Drexel. 

She  has  made  all  arrangements  for  our  jour 
ney  next  week,  and  is  a  veritable  tower  of 
strength.  She  is  also  glad  I  am  not  going  to 
the  Prendergasts.  I  believe  she  thinks  she  will 

344 


GWENDA 

have  a  better  chance  of  my  entire  management 
at  Silvercombe  than  in  Town.  I  can  plainly 
see  that  Fanchette  intends  to  manage  me  for 
the  rest  of  my  life  as  old  Hannah  manages  you. 
What  is  it  that  makes  us  so  weak  in  the  hands 
of  servants?  I  have  not  dared  to  tell  her  that 
Peter  is  travelling  with  us.  I  shall  be  much 
stronger  in  a  day  or  two.  I  have  walked  twice 
the  length  of  the  room  to-day,  but  am  glad  to 
be  back  again  and  be  coddled  by  Fanchette. 

She  has  been  brushing  my  hair.  She  says  I 
must  have  new  ribbons. 

"  For  one  week,"  I  remonstrated,  "  surely 
these  will  do  ?  " 

"  A  yard  and  a  half  of  ribbon  at  6d.  a  yard 
could  not  ruin  anybody,  Madam,"  she  assures 
me,  and  I  have  told  her  to  take  ninepence  from 
my  purse.  When  Fanchette  begins  to  argue, 
ninepence  is  a  cheap  price  to  pay  for  it  to  cease. 

"  You  will  want  a  new  teagown,  Madame,  for 
Silvercombe " 

"Shall  I?  Won't  my  blue  one  do?  It  would 
clean " 


345 


LETTER   XXIII 

ST.  MARGARET'S  HOSPITAL  FOR  WOMEN, 
BLOOMSBURY,  LONDON,  Oct.  29th. 

DEAR  UNCLE  SANDY  : 

I  want  you  to  come  to  us — Granty  and  me. 

Lionel  is  dead.  He  died  suddenly  this  after 
noon,  and  Granty  lies  in  an  unconscious  condi 
tion  at  the  Hyde  Park  Hotel. 

Peter  Drexel  and  Mrs.  Prendergast  are  doing 
all  they  can  for  us,  but  I  want  you.  You  were 
Lionel's  uncle,  how  strange  to  say  were,  and 
you  are  my  dear  kind  friend. 

They,  the  nurses  and  Peter,  want  me  to  go  to 
sleep.  Aren't  people  funny?  Granty  lies  fight 
ing  for  her  life,  unconscious,  in  some  strange 
spirit  world,  and  they  want  me  to  sleep.  Peter 
thinks  she  will  rally,  people  rarely  die  from 
shock,  he  says,  and  I  know  that  her  heart  was 
sound.  He  sends  me  messages  by  telephone 
every  half  hour.  Her  pulse  is  a  little  stronger, 
but  I  am  nearly  distracted  with  fear. 

I  don't  seem  to  mind  that  Lionel  is  dead.  I 
only  think  of  Granty. 

346 


GWENDA 

She  came  up  from  Silvercombe  unexpectedly 
this  afternoon  and  suddenly  walked  into  my 
room,  to  Fanchette  and  me.  Fanchette  was 
brushing  my  hair. 

The  joy  of  it,  the  intense  happiness  as  that 
slight  upright  figure  stood  beside  me ! 

I  clung  to  her  laughing,  babbling  incoherent 
nonsense,  the  tears  pouring  down  my  cheeks. 
But  she  was  strangely  white  and  still — still  as 
the  earth  is  still  before  a  storm. 

She  returned  my  kisses;  she  brooded  over 
me  with  a  hungry  look  in  her  eyes ;  she  passed 
her  small,  white  hand  over  my  face  and  hair. 

Presently  she  spoke :  "  I  came  to  satisfy  my 
self  that  you  were  going  on  well.  The  report 
that  you  were  still  too  weak  to  travel  alarmed 
me.  Your  kind  friend  Dr.  Drexel,  in  reply  to 
a  letter  of  mine,  wrote  reassuringly.  Still,  I 
was  not  satisfied.  Doctors  don't  know,  they  are 
very  ignorant.  But — chiefly  I  came  up  to  see 
your  husband,  to  see  Lionel  to  have  five  min 
utes'  talk  with  him.  One — "  she  spoke  slowly 
and  as  with  difficulty,  "  one  can  say  a  lot  in 
five  minutes." 

She  moved  toward  the  door.  "  I  will  come 
back.  I  shan't  be  long.  I  would  have  gone 
straight  to  him  but  I  felt  I  must  see  you  first 

347 


GWENDA 

to  find  out  how  things  were  and — it  is  worse 
than  I  expected.  .  .  .  God,  how  you  must  have 
suffered." 

There  was  a  note  in  her  voice  as  that  of  some 
wounded  animal  crying  for  the  loss  of  her 
young;  and  she  stood  a  shaken,  broken  figure. 
Then,  with  a  supreme  effort,  she  pulled  herself 
together.  "  I  am  weak,"  she  murmured  in  a 
little  half -apologetic  manner,  "  weak  after  my 
illness  and  the  doctor's  treatment  which  nearly 
killed  me  outright.  But  I  am  strong  enough  to 
make  your  husband  shrink  before  me,  the  Cur, 
the  white-livered  cur.  And  that  such  men  should 
live,  should  be  allowed  to  live  after  bringing 
such  a  look  to  a  woman's  face.  .  .  .  Gwenda, 
my  little  Gwenda,"  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  struggling  for  control,  "  Your  eyes  .  .  . 
we  must  bring  back  the  light  .  .  .  somehow." 
She  passed  out  of  the  room  and  quietly  closed 
the  door. 

"  Fanchette,"  I  cried,  "  follow  her.  Don't  let 
her  see  you,  but  never  let  her  out  of  your 
sight." 

And  I  lay  still,  hands  pressed  to  my  beating 
heart. 

Have  you  ever  known  what  it  means  to  lie 
still  when  the  world  is  crashing  around  you? 

348 


GWENDA 

And  after  a  long  long  while  Peter  Drexel 
came  to  me.  And  he  was  very  gentle,  kneeling 
beside  the  bed,  and  I  knew  that  something  ter 
rible  had  come  into  my  life. 

"  I  can  bear  it,"  I  said,  "  anything,  anything 
in  the  whole  wide  world  so  long  as  it  ...  isn't 
.  .  .  Granty." 

He  took  my  hand  in  his.  "  It  isn't  Granty, 
though  she  is  suffering  from  shock.  It  is  Lio 
nel,  your  husband.  Will  you  be  brave?  " 

"He  is  dead?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  he  died  suddenly."  And  my 
laughter  rang  through  the  ward  that  it  was  he 
and  not  she. 

"  Hush,"  he  commanded ;  "  for  her  sake  you 
must  calm  yourself.  She  is  unconscious,  and 
very  ill.  But  she  will  rally,  I  think.  Every 
thing  that  is  possible  is  being  done  for  her.  I 
will  let  you  know  constantly  of  her  progress. 
Fanchette  is  outside.  She  will  tell  you  all  for 
I  must  go."  For  an  instant  he  laid  a  cool  hand 
on  my  forehead,  and  at  once  I  was  calm.  "  It 
is  wise  to  tell  things  to  people  of  your  tem 
perament,"  he  said,  "  and  will  you  promise 
to  be  good  for — all  our  sakes  I  "  And  I  prom 
ised. 

I  must  give  you  Fanchette's  story  briefly  for 
349 


GWENDA 

the  nurse  says  I  must  stop  writing  and  try  to 
go  to  sleep.  She  is  pretty  and  healthy  and 
young  and — without  understanding  because 
she  has  never  had  a  trouble.  Sleep! 

Fanchette,  in  a  taxicab,  followed  Granty  to 
Prince's  Gate  and,  slipping  into  the  hall  behind 
her,  signalled  to  Balbriggan  to  keep  quiet. 

"  I  want  to  see  your  master."  Granty  spoke 
in  a  high  clear  voice. 

Balbriggan  told  her  that  he  was  engaged  with 
a  gentleman  in  the  library  and  was  not  on  any 
account  to  be  disturbed. 

"  Show  me  the  library,"  she  commanded  and, 
on  a  sudden,  stopped  short  as  loud  angry 
voices  and  a  sound  of  scuffling  came  from  a 
room  just  to  the  right  of  where  she  was  stand 
ing.  With  a  swift  movement  she  stepped 
toward  it,  flinging  open  the  door  wide,  and 
then  drew  back  with  a  cry,  for  this  was  the 
sight  revealed: 

A  short  heavily  built  man  with  large,  coarse 
hands  was  beating  Lionel  with  a  dog  whip, 
raining  blows  upon  his  head  and  shoulders. 
"  You  hound,"  he  shouted  in  a  thick,  hoarse 
voice,  "  I'll  teach  you  to  carry  on  with  the 
woman  who  was  once  my  wife.  I  divorced  her, 
because  she  drove  me  to  it.  But  I  still  love 

350 


GWENDA 

her.  .  .  .  Heaven  help  me  .  .  .  but  no  other 
man  shall  have  her.  I'll  horsewhip  the  lot  ... 
take  that  .  .  .  and  that  .  .  .  you  beast!  It's 
gone  on  too  long  .  .  .  your  love-making,  and 
I'll  stop  it.  ...  You  shan't  have  her  .  .  ." 

It  was  Mr.  Rosenberg;  and  I  cannot  write  of 
that  pitiful  scene  as  Fanchette  described  it  for 
Lionel  was  ill,  mortally  ill,  fighting  for  breath, 
for  his  life;  unable  to  defend  himself,  unable 
to  ward  off  the  cruel  blows. 

For  a  moment  Granty,  Fanchette  and  Bal- 
briggan  stood  transfixed  with  horror  not  real 
ising  the  position,  wondering  at  the  cringing 
figure,  scorning  his  cowardice,  his  dog-like  atti 
tude,  his  acceptance  of  his  punishment,  till,  in 
a  flash,  it  came  to  Balbriggan  that  his  master 
was  ill,  and,  springing  forward,  he  seized  Mr. 
Eosenberg  from  behind  wrenching  the  whip 
from  him.  But  it  was  too  late.  Lionel  swayed 
and  fell  heavily  forward,  striking  his  head  vio 
lently  against  the  marble  curb  of  the  fireplace 
—a  dull  sickening  thud;  I  can  hear  it — the 
awful  sound.  .  .  .  He  only  lived  a  few  minutes. 

Peter  says  he  ruptured  a  blood  vessel 
through  excitement  and  intense  passion. 

And  that  is  all :  Lionel  is  dead.  Granty  is 
unconscious.  And  I  have  to  lie  still.  And  al- 

351 


GWENDA 

ways  the  sound  of  that  thud  is  in  my  ears.  Can 
you  wonder  that  I  want  you  Uncle  Sandy! 

This  has  passed  an  hour,  but  the  long  night 
is  before  me,  and  I  shall  hear  that  awful  im 
pact  over  and  over  again,  and  picture  that 
handsome  face  and  head  bruised  and  disfig 
ured  and  terrible. 

Come  quickly.  GWENDA. 

And  a  woman  has  been  the  cause  of  my  life 
being  spoilt,  and  her  husband's  life  being  spoilt, 
and  the  life  of  my  husband  being  ended.  And 
she  will  go  on  smiling  till  her  beauty  has  gone. 
And  then  she,  too,  will  suffer,  for  she  will  be 
alone.  I  have  that  consolation. 

Now  that  Lionel  has  gone  I  forget  that  he 
ceased  to  love  me.  I  forget  everything — for 
the  moment.  Perhaps  it  will  come  back,  but, 
for  the  present,  everything  is  wiped  out.  I  only 
remember  our  days  at  Cancale  when  we  sat 
together  in  the  sunshine  and  threw  pebbles  into 
the  sea. 


352 


LETTER   XXIV 

SUNSET,  SILVERCOMBE, 
Christmas  Eve. 

DEAR  UNCLE  SANDY  : 

Christmas  is  here  and  we  wish  you  had  con 
sented  to  stay  with  us. 

We  know,  of  course,  that  nothing  can  touch 
the  Trossachs  for  dazzling  beauty  and  real 
Christmassy  atmosphere  at  this  season,  for 
Scotland  is  always  seasonable,  but  we  are  doing 
our  best  and  we  actually  have  snow,  real,  white 
frozen  snow.  And  snow  and  sea  may  not  be  so 
beautiful  as  snow  and  lakes  and  mountains,  but, 
I  can  assure  you  they  are  not  half  bad. 

"Won't  you  come  to  us  for  the  New  Year? 

I  promise  you  we  will  try  to  be  cheerful,  in 
fact  we  shan't  try  for  we  are  quite  surprisingly 
cheerful.  We  have  closed  the  book  of  the  past, 
closed  it  for  all  but  the  nice  bits,  and  these  we 
peep  into  but  occasionally,  and  not  often. 

We  have  started  a  new  book.  Granty's  is  not 
so  large  as  mine  which  contains  many  clean  fair 
pages,  and  without  haste  I  wait  to  see  what  the 

353 


G  W  E  N  D  A 

writing  thereon  will  be;  but  hers  is  of  choice 
get  up,  slim  and  elegant,  an  edition  de  luxe  in 
fact,  suited  for  the  beauty  of  the  writing  which 
will  grace  its  pages,  I  trust. 

We  are  both  very  well,  thank  you.  Granty,  in 
goloshes  paddles  out  to  feed  the  fowls,  which 
are  laying  well.  I  have  put  a  new  feather  in  the 
old  hat,  and  she  has  a  new  pink  shawl  and  is 
altogether  very  smart.  And  we  cannot  be  dull 
with  Fanchette  in  the  house. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  old  Hannah  has 
met  her  equal;  and  their  attitude  toward  one 
another  is  a  real  source  of  delight  to  us.  Little 
Ellen  has  gone,  and  Fanchette  is  now  house 
maid,  parlourmaid  and  lady's  maid  rolled  in 
one. 

When  Hannah  is  bad  tempered,  rude  and 
quarrelsome,  Fanchette  pretends  she  is  ill,  and 
treats  her  as  though  she  were  an  ailing  child. 
When  she  scoffs  and  makes  sarcastic  remarks 
about  Fanchette's  silk  petticoats  and  wonderful 
coiffure,  the  latter  puts  it  down  to  jealousy  and 
suggests  that  Hannah  shall  adopt  a  chignon 
and  she  will  show  her  how  the  hair  should  be 
arranged  over  it.  Hannah's  snorts  sometimes 
steal  right  down  the  passage  and  across  the  hall 
to  the  drawingroom,  and  often  make  us  laugh. 

354 


GWENDA 

Colonel  Mainprice  and  Mary  Middleton  come 
to  see  us  pretty  frequently,  and  Granty  has 
learned  to  play  bridge.  On  principle  she  never 
goes  *  No  Trumps.'  She  regards  it  as  a  wile 
of  the  devil  to  induce  gambling.  She  likes  a 
good  strong  club  call  because  clubs  are  rarely 
doubled.  And  should  one  of  us  have  the  temer 
ity  to  double  spades,  she  treats  us  with  marked 
coldness  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

No,  I  am  not  going  to  marry  Peter  Drexel 
in  the  spring.  I  am  not  going  to  marry  any 
body.  Because  I  have  been  so  unlucky  I  am  not 
so  foolish  as  to  think  there  are  no  happy  mar 
riages.  I  believe  there  are  a  number  of  men 
and  women  who  together  find  quiet  happiness 
and  a  certain  amount  of  contentment  chiefly 
through  the  patience  and  adaptability  of  wom 
en,  not  radiant  satisfaction  and  bliss — that  is 
only  for  the  first  few  months,  but  just  quiet 
happiness,  which  seems  to  be  enough  for  most. 
But  I  think  I  expect  and  want  too  much  from 
marriage.  I  should  always  be  wounded  at  the 
rough  word,  always  hurt  at  the  carelessness  and 
indifference  of  my  husband. 

So  why  risk  further  disillusionment?  I  am 
contented  now,  and  almost  happy.  Why  put 
my  head  into  a  bag — which  sounds  rude  to 

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GWENDA 

Peter  when  he  is  so  patient,  but  you  know :  "  A 
burnt  child,"  etc. 

Before  I  close,  we  want  to  thank  you  once 
again  for  all  your  goodness  to  us  in  that  cruel 
time.  The  very  sight  of  you  as  you  walked  into 
the  ward  in  your  heather-mixture  tweeds 
brought  me  strength  and  an  uplifting  of  spirit. 
About  you  there  seemed  to  linger  the  breath  of 
your  strong  north  wind  and  mountains.  And 
when  I  was  dressed  and  you  picked  me  up  in 
your  arms  and  carried  me  down  to  the  carriage 
and  took  me  to  Granty,  I  seemed  to  find  spirit 
to  face  and  get  through  things  from  your  mere 
invigorating  presence. 

Good  luck  and  always  much  happiness  we 
both  wish  you. 

Your  loving 

GWENDA. 


356 


LETTER   XXV 

HOTEL  DE  L'AFRIQUE,  TANGIER, 
Christmas. 

DEAK  UNCLE  SANDY  : 

Another  Christmas  come  round,  and  you  are 
chuckling  much  to  yourself  these  days  because 
you  and  Peter  have  got  your  way.  It  is  so  like 
a  man  or  men,  for  Peter  is  actually  chuckling 
too  when  I  am  not  about  to  fix  him  with  stern 
eye. 

You  badger  me  relentlessly,  untiringly,  per 
sistently  for  twelve  months,  and  then  because  I 
give  in  you  both  chuckle.  You  think  you  are  so 
clever,  so  diplomatic,  that  women  are  so  weak, 
so  easily  got  round.  But  let  me  tell  you  I 
wanted,  in  the  end,  to  be  got  round.  Otherwise 
I  never  should  have  given  in. 

I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  remained  on  at 
Sunset  since  the  wedding.  Granty  will  not  be 
feeling  so  lonesome.  You  happen  to  be  about 
the  only  man  she  has  ever  liked,  I  won't  even 
say  that,  but  tolerated. 

Has  she  told  you  she  is  going  to  live  with 
357 


GWENDA 

Peter  and  me?  And  she  likes  the  prospect. 
She  says  she  wants  to  go  to  a  few  theatres  and 
political  meetings  in  her  old  age.  Isn't  she  a 
marvel?  And  won't  it  be  pleasant  for  London 
to  have  one  old  lady  in  its  midst?  Such  a 
unique  phenomenon. 

Tangier,  in  spite  of  its  noisome  smells,  so 
fascinates  me  that  we  are  not  moving  on  to 
Algiers  for  a  day  or  two.  As  you  approach 
it  from  the  harbour  it  reminds  you  of  houses 
of  blue  cards,  and  looks  wonderfully  and  ab 
solutely  clean.  And  the  moment  you  put  your 
foot  on  shore  this  impression  vanishes  like  a 
streak  of  lightning.  I  had  heard  of  the  smell 
of  the  East,  and  now  it  has  surrounded  me,  you 
can  almost  feel  it. 

And  yet  I  stay  because  I  can't  leave  it,  and 
Peter  feels  the  same. 

We  have  done  the  sights  on  mules.  After  us 
drivers  in  orange  slippers  have  torn  yelling 
"  Arrah,  Arrah !  "  or  something  like  that.  My 
saddle  has  usually  been  composed  of  anything 
that  was  handy  at  the  moment  of  its  manu 
facture:  odd  bits  of  straw  and  bone  and  old 
bottles,  so  to  speak. 

We  gallop  through  the  noisy,  pestilential,  fly- 
ridden  market  place,  and  over  sandy  wastes 

358 


GWENDA 

with  no  sign  of  vegetation  but  for  the  sad-look 
ing  prickly  pears;  and  Mahomet,  my  driver,  a 
keen  rascal  after  backsheesh,  observes  sadly 
that  the  English  lady  is  very  white  and  tired 
and  will  go,  will  she  not,  to  the  Governor's  gar 
den  and  gather  lil  violets  and  tangerines  I 

"  It  sounds  pleasant,"  I  murmur,  and  we  go, 
and  it  is  for  all  the  world  as  though  we  had 
tumbled  across  a  transformation  scene.  The 
hot  sun,  glaring,  dazzling  sand,  prickly  pears, 
and  swarms  of  flies  one  minute,  and  the  next 
a  carpet  of  violets  at  the  foot  of  the  tangerine 
trees,  grateful  shade,  an  old  moss-grown  water- 
wheel,  fragrant  scents,  absence  of  flies.  How 
is  it  done? 

I  must  end.  Peter  wants  me  to  go  to  some 
mosque.  The  religion  of  these  people  is  won 
derful.  The  call  to  prayer  each  night  —  so 
tender,  so  musical,  touches  within  me  some 
strange,  unexpected  chord.  "  Allah,  Allah, 
Allah  is  great  .  .  .  He  slumbereth  not,  neither 
doth  He  sleep  .  .  ." 

Peter  is  calling  to  me,  and  I  must  go. 

All  my  love  and  greetings  to  you.  I  have 
written  to  Granty,  and  please  take  great  care 
of  her  for  me,  Ever  lovingly 

GWENDA. 
359 


LETTER   XXVI 

119a  BROOK  STREET,  LONDON,  W., 
December  12th. 

DEAR  UNCLE  SANDY  : 

Peter  and  I  have  been  married  twelve  months 
to-day,  and  you  made  me  promise  that  when  the 
year  was  up  I  would  write  and  tell  you  how 
things  were  with  me,  and  whether  I  was  happy, 
unhappy,  or  neither  one  nor  the  other.  I  be 
lieve  from  the  twinkle  in  your  eye  you  felt 
pretty  certain  what  my  answer  would  be,  and 
as  it  would  grieve  me  to  disappoint  you,  I  will 
admit  right  away  to  the  first. 

Yes.  I  am  happy,  completely  and  absolutely 
happy,  and  so  is  Peter,  at  least  he  has  told  me 
so  more  tunes  than  I  can  count.  And  if  I  were 
inclined  to  doubt  his  word,  I  have  only  to  look 
into  his  eyes  (which  were  always  the  nicest 
point  about  him)  to  know  that  he  is  speaking 
the  truth. 

And  I  think  we  are  both  appreciating  our 
happiness  so  much  because  we  have  been 
through  sorrow.  People  who  have  never  been 

360 


GWENDA 

sorry  in  their  lives  can  never  know  what  it  is 
to  be  really  glad. 

I  sing  as  I  run  down  the  stairs  to  breakfast 
and  Peter  takes  up  the  refrain  and  hums  it  as 
he  opens  his  letters. 

Granty  is  very  well,  and  very  popular  which 
will  not  surprise  you.  Her  sage  remarks  de 
light  our  friends.  She  still  indulges  in  nasty 
cuts  at  men,  but  they  don't  seem  to  mind  in  the 
least,  and  fight  for  the  honour  of  taking  her 
in  to  dinner.  She  has  joined  a  Suffrage  Society 
— not  a  militant  one,  I  am  relieved  to  say. 

We  are  all  very  delighted  to  know  that  you 
will  come  to  us  for  the  New  Year.  It  is  unself 
ish  of  you  to  leave  your  own  country  during 
its  greatest  festival.  I  must  tell  you  in  con 
fidence  that  Granty  is  knitting  you  a  tartan  pair 
of  stockings  of  the  Clan  McAlister.  From  the 
silk  cover  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  "  which 
you  one  day  presented  to  me.  I  am  inclined  to 
think  she  has  not  got  the  colouring  quite  correct. 
But  don't  let  her  know  this,  will  you? 
Your  very  affectionate, 

GWENDA. 

P.  S. — Of  course  Peter  is  an  exceptional  man. 
P.  S. — And  Granty  has  only  once  contradicted 
me  when  I  said  this. 

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